


Vertigo

by IceMage4739



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, But hates his alternate identity, Elemental Magic, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Han Jisung | Han is Oblivious, Jisung has light powers, LITERALLY, M/M, Minho has shadow powers, Opposites Attract, POV Alternating, Pining, Plot, Secret Identity, but a lot of plot first, it's complicated - Freeform, it's good bear with me, jisung loves minho, minho is tired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-10 16:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceMage4739/pseuds/IceMage4739
Summary: "I hate it when you talk like that," Jisung said, frowning."Like what?" Minho inquired, a challenging bite to his voice."Like we're a team," Jisung muttered. The words stung, but the look on Jisung's face told Minho he hadn't meant for them to hurt as much as they did. He just looked exhausted. "Neither of us have ever fought another elemental before.""That's not true," Minho pointed out. "We fought each other once.""That wasn't serious," Jisung protested. "You just really pissed me off. We weren't actually trying to hurt each other."Minho hummed in affirmation, but couldn't resist adding, "But it was still fun."Jisung shot him a glare. "This isn't the time for that," he huffed. "We might really be in over our heads this time."Or, Han Jisung is a light elemental, beloved by his city. Lee Minho is a shadow elemental who hides his identity for his own good. Jisung loves Lee Minho but hates his alternate identity, and Minho just wants some freedom. But a turn of events forces them to work together, for better or for worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Khalid's "Vertigo"
> 
> Symbols mark changes in time, the suns mark Jisung's POV, the stars mark Minho's.

☼☼☼

Jisung had had it since he was thirteen.

It hit him one day, out of the blue. Actually, it hit his _bus_, and nearly set it on fire. He remembered the students around him screaming, terrified, but he’d felt suddenly calm. There was nothing quite like it–the closest comparison he’d ever been able to give was the feeling of settling into a bath after a hard day, or waking up after a long sleep. The bus lit up, the electricity sizzling through the floor and along the windows, and Jisung breathed it in like it was the most natural occurrence.

After that day, nothing had been the same.  
  
He’d carried light in his veins since, able to call upon it whenever he needed. Once, his dad joked that if they cut him open, he’d be made of little lightbulbs. Jisung had laughed at that, but his mom looked appalled, and suddenly any jokes related to _cutting Jisung, our thirteen-year-old son, open_ and _light bulbs, flashlights, and candles–for good measure_ were banned.

Most of the time, the light felt like it was burning him from the inside out. It wasn’t terribly painful, more like uncomfortably warm. But it also came with an endless energy. Jisung hardly ever stayed still, he was bursting at the seams with energy, and if he didn’t hold it back, it was all too likely that he could burn someone, or flash them with a ray strong enough to blind them for at least a couple of hours. Jisung had to learn how to control that rather quickly, unfortunately _after_ he’d permanently blinded their family dog.

He never hid his identity. His whole school was aware of what happened–it was hard to cover up an entire bus being struck by lightning with no casualties, especially when one of the students had walked off literally glowing blue. After that, the news quickly spread over the city, throughout Korea, and then, Jisung assumed, the world.

_The next elemental has been chosen. _  
  
For a while, Jisung envied those who remained in hiding. People who got to discover what happened to them on their own, who got to test the new source of power without the public eye constantly on them. But then Jisung realized how much better it was to be out in the open. It was hard to help his city,_ his people_, behind a mask. He found that people trusted him much better when they could look him in the eye and call him by his name. _Han Jisung._

Still, he’d always strived for a normal life. He completed high school–at the top of his class, but he didn’t like to brag–and was readily admitted into one of the best colleges in the city, all due to his own hard work, _not_ his elemental. The initial surprise and awe of the other students around him wore off after the first year in college, which allowed him to lead a semi-normal college life. He stayed up late to finish papers, he partied on Fridays and woke up hungover on Saturday, and he worked a part-time job at the local café because, surprisingly enough, being a superhero didn’t pay. Like, at all.

He’d been able to find great friends–ones who _didn’t_ like him because of his sparking fingers and party tricks–and even managed to land himself a single dorm under the argument that he did “classified work”. For the most part, he was doing really well. At least, he told himself that his life could definitely be worse.

But there was one thing he didn’t have. One thing that he would give up almost anything to get.

☼☼☼

“Minho-hyung!” Jisung called, quickening his pace to catch up to the older boy. Jisung was naturally lithe, and it was rather easy to navigate around the bodies that were currently rushing the opposite direction. Still, Minho always seemed to be one step ahead of him, which, Jisung thought, was a near impossible feat, because how could Minho always manage to slide past him when Jisung was _literally_ inhumanly fast? Jisung grinned at the thought, speeding up his feet just a little bit more. “Hyung!”

The older boy didn’t look back as he called after him. Jisung wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t hear him, or because he was outright ignoring him, but, judging by past experiences, it was probably the latter. Nevertheless, Jisung was nothing if not persistent. He shimmied past a couple of freshman that gaped at him, then sped up as he made it to the side of the building closest to him. He vaulted up the side easily, enjoying himself way too much, and landed gracefully in front of Minho. He gave him a toothy smile, adjusting his backpack straps.

Minho scowled at him.

“Hyung, I don’t know if you heard me, but I–”

“I heard you,” Minho replied in a blunt voice. “Also, how many times have I told you not to call me ‘hyung?’”  
  
Jisung rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Once or twice,” he answered.

Minho blinked at him. “Try at least three times a week.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Jisung whined.

“You just vaulted off a wall to talk to me, and _I’m_ the one being dramatic?” Minho said, the hint of a smirk gracing his lips.

Jisung shrugged, unfazed. Actually, he couldn’t help thinking this was going unnaturally well. Usually Minho wouldn’t take the time to even tease him. “You wouldn’t stop,” he said simply, as if that was all the defense he needed.

Minho only rolled his eyes at him, moving to shoulder past him, but Jisung was quicker this time. He hurriedly matched his steps so he was walking backwards in front of him.

“You’re going to fall on your ass,” Minho stated, his voice factual, lacking any emotion.

“Worried about me?” Jisung laughed.

“Not really–oh, look a rock–ha, made you look.”

“Lee Minho, you’re too cruel.”

“Then why won’t you leave me alone?”

Minho had a point–why didn’t Jisung just give up? There were plenty of people at the college who’d shown interest in him, most of them were practically throwing themselves at his feet. But that was just it, Jisung knew exactly why he couldn’t just leave Minho alone. He seemed to be the only person who _wasn’t_ affected by Jisung’s alternate identity. Minho was maybe the only person he could be sure would never like him just because of some power that shouldn’t define him. Beyond that, there was something that _pulled_ Jisung to Minho. He didn’t know what, but it was like there was a buzz in his veins, different from the usual thrum of energy in his body, and it seemed to tug him to Minho. It was relentless, and only calmed when Jisung was close to the older boy. Jisung didn’t believe in fate, but he didn’t know how else to describe what he felt towards Minho.

Jisung shook off all of the serious answers, then plastered a smile onto his face. He bounced on his feet, his energy higher than usual. It made him feel more excited, burning up in his chest. “Because it’s just so fun to rile you up,” he joked. “Did you know that when you frown, your upper lip juts out? And your eyebrows come together? It’s all very fish-like and adorable.”

Minho glared at him, and Jisung clapped. “There! That’s the look!”

Minho’s eyes darkened, and he turned his head, obviously annoyed.

Okay, so maybe Jisung had a tendency to take things too far. “It’s too easy to piss you off, too bad that’s the only reaction–”

Minho’s hand surged forward, and for a second Jisung wondered if the older boy was about to punch him. Jisung figured he would probably deserve it. But instead, Minho grabbed Jisung’s arm, tugging him forward a little until there was nearly no space between them and Jisung could’ve sworn he could feel the rise and fall of Minho’s chest. He was completely shocked–in their years of knowing each other, this was the closest they’d ever been, and Jisung was finding it difficult to get his brain to function well enough to just say something. His own breath was knocked out of his lungs, and, for the first time in seven years, he felt the world still.

Jisung gulped, his heartbeat speeding up. Did Minho feel that, too? It was impossible, Jisung was sure it was somehow linked to his elemental. He found it difficult to do much more than stand, his entire body relaxing into Minho in a way that he didn’t think was possible anymore. The constant vibration of his power, the thrum of light in his blood–all of it was quiet.

Minho blinked, pulling his hand back like he’d been burnt. “Stairs,” he mumbled, before nudging past Jisung and walking away while the latter was still in a dumb stupor. The feeling was gone as quickly as it had come, and Jisung was left with his mind whirling. The thrum of his power was back with a vengeance, and he itched to burn off some of it.

Jisung blinked after him, dumbfounded. He tried to push aside his curiosity about the strange stillness he’d experienced, he wasn’t sure he was ready to try and figure out what it had meant. He wouldn’t even know where to start, and he didn’t want to allow his mind the freedom to make something up.

His eyes fell to where he’d almost tripped down one of the highest flights of stairs at the university. His stomach flipped, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the delayed fear of his near-fall or from the short moment he’d been close to Minho. The feelings were oddly similar, and Jisung wondered if it was completely insane to crave both. He figured that the feeling itself wasn’t too different from the one you’d experience both right before the drop on a roller coaster, and right after. The anticipation, followed by the fall.

Jisung felt an arm sling around his shoulder and he stiffened, gaze shifting to his right quickly. He relaxed when he realized that it was only Hyunjin, his best–and closest–friend since their first year at university, letting his discomfort from the previous moment dissipate.

“_That,_” Hyunjin began, lacing the word with amusement and grandiose akin to a great speech, “was sad. Very, very sad.”

Jisung slumped. “How much did you see?”

Hyunjin shook his head. “Like, all of it.”

Jisung shrugged Hyunjin’s arm off his shoulder, then turned so that he could face his best friend. “It could’ve been worse,” he argued.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Could’ve been a lot better,” he said. “Except, when is it ever?”

Jisung groaned. “No need to remind me, Hyunjin. It’s no fair, at least you’re friends with him.”

“Loosely.”

“Still,” Jisung whined.

Hyunjin sighed. “When are you just going to give up on him? You know you don’t have any chance with him, and I’m sick of seeing you get rejected all the time. It’s really bad for your image, dude.”

“Since when have I needed to care about my image,” Jisung spat in offense.

Hyunjin’s face settled into a wary expression. The two of them rarely talked about what Jisung called ‘superhero drama’, mostly because it always led to the tension between them rising until one of them snapped and said something they regretted. Jisung loved Hyunjin, but they didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, particularly when it came to his alternate identity. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who made the choice to be public about your identity,” he said slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully.

Jisung took a deep breath, trying to force the negative thought away. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s just–”

Hyunjin’s face softened, and he placed a comforting hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “I know, Jisung. It’s hard but _he_–” Hyunjin nodded his head in the direction that Minho had walked “–isn’t going to fix it. Lee Minho is not the right guy.”

Jisung felt like he’d been slapped. Sure, he’d thought the same thing many times since he’d discovered his feelings for the older boy, but he’d never let himself dwell on it–and he sure as hell never let the thought fester–but hearing it said, aloud, to his face, was something entirely different. Maybe if he’d nipped it in the bud years sooner–killed his feelings when he first discovered them–it wouldn’t have been so bad. Now, though, it was impossible. Jisung _loved_ Minho, but he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. Not to Hyunjin, not even to himself. He gazed in the direction that Hyunjin had just gestured to, hoping, selfishly, to find some glimpse of Minho, but he was long gone. He sighed and looked away from Hyunjin’s eyes before murmuring, “But why do I want him to be that so bad?”

Hyunjin’s eyes were sympathetic when Jisung risked a glance back up. “Jisung,” he began, his voice lowering in the careful way that Jisung knew meant he was about to hear the ugly truth. It was the same tone of voice his mom had used when she told him what the lightning strike was, who_ he_ had become. “I’ve known Minho-hyung for a long time. Maybe the longest out of everyone–except Changbin-hyung–and I’ve never seen him date or even show interest in someone, boy or girl.”

“I–”

Hyunjin flashed him a glare that told him he wasn’t done talking. “You think you’re the first one to show interest in him? Minho barely lets _me_ in, Jisung. I don’t think he ever will, to be honest. He’s got a fucking Great Wall of China built between him and everyone else, and you’re not going to break it down.”

Jisung flinched, refusing to meet Hyunjin’s eyes. He’s too scared that if he did, his eyes would water and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from crying.

Hyunjin shook his head. “I know you care about him. I don’t blame you–I do, too. But you deserve _more_, Jisung. Someone who will meet your bright heart and enthusiasm halfway, someone who can match your smile. All Minho would do is dim it.”

Jisung’s hands clenched, but he knew Hyunjin was right. Still, he remained silent. If he spoke now, the only words that would come out of his mouth would be _I don’t care_ but he was pretty sure that wasn’t what either of them should hear right now. He thought back to how it felt when Minho had touched him earlier, no matter how brief. It was almost like he was being dimmed, but it hadn’t felt remotely like that. It had felt like comfort, calm. Jisung knew he tended to be dramatic, but that was far from normal, at least when it came to him.

Hyunjin eyed him carefully, indulging the uncomfortable silence for a little while longer, before he sighed. “I’m sorry. That was too harsh. I overstepped my boundaries, I just–I really hate seeing you like this.”

Jisung still didn’t respond.

Hyunjin’s phone dinged, and he let out a panicked squeal when he checked it. “Shit, I need to go catch up to him. Hoseok-hyung will have _both_ of our heads if he skips out on practice again. Like I’m his babysitter,” Hyunjin added with a scoff.

Jisung didn’t look up as he hurried away, and he didn’t move from his spot. Most of the crowd had thinned out by now, and he was lucky to be surrounded by upperclassman that were used to his presence at campus by now; so when he made his way to the nearby bench, there was no one around to gawk at the city’s favorite superhero–face in his hands, shoulders shaking.  


✯✯✯

  
Minho got it when he was nine.

The signature bolt of lightning hit him when he was in his backyard. He’d been playing with one of the neighbor kids right before it happened. He still remembered the smile the younger boy had flashed him, right before he’d grabbed Minho’s hand. Right before the lightning struck.

Minho thought he was being suffocated at first. All of the light went out of the world, stolen from him in a matter of seconds, and his lungs tightened like a rag being wrung for the last droplets of water. Minho thought he was going to die–thought he was _dead._

But none of that compared to the fear he felt when the light came back and his chest expanded so he could breathe again. It all came back in a rush, bringing with it the feeling of boundless power. He could do anything–he could do everything. The power surged through him, sickening, addicting, and a darkness lifted from his hands in waves.

He hated it.

Minho remembered very little of that day. He remembered the taste of bile as he vomited the contents of the lunch his mother had made that day into the rose bush behind his childhood home. He remembered turning around, searching desperately for his friend–someone to tell him that he was dreaming. But all he found was the boy’s body on the ground, completely still, veins lines like black vines winding over his arms, up his neck, onto his face.

Minho remembered screaming, and not much else.

✯✯✯

“You’re cutting out on practice early? Again?” Hyunjin asked incredulously, following him into the changing room right by the dancers’ practice room. “What am I supposed to tell Hoseok-hyung when he calls the end of break in–” he paused, checking his phone “–six minutes?”

“Nothing,” Minho replied indifferently. “You’re not my babysitter.”  
  
Hyunjin threw his arms up in exasperation. “That’s not what Hoseok-hyung seems to think.”

Minho shrugged. “Tell him I feel sick.”

“I said that last week.”

“Family emergency.”

“Two weeks before _that_.”

“I have a really big paper to write.”

“I used that one last week when the sick excuse didn’t work again,” Hyunjin said bluntly. “Seriously, hyung? There’s only an hour of practice left, why the hell can’t you just stay?”

Minho shrugged. “ I have to go,” he replied nonchalantly. He was good at this now, pushing people away with a practiced ease.

Hyunjin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “God, you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

Minho’s jaw clenched, his lips tightening into a thin line, and he was suddenly relieved that his back was turned to him. He began to fiddle with the lock on his locker, knowing that he wouldn’t actually open it until the other boy was long gone. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me change? Because I was going to put on a different pair of underwear–”

“You brushed off Jisung again,” Hyunjin said, his voice accusing.

Minho stilled, hand itching to tug his lock open. He forced a neutral expression and turned to Hyunjin. “I did,” he agreed.

Hyunjin’s face contorted into a glare. “He’s a good person, hyung. I get that you’re not interested in him, but he doesn’t deserve what you put him through.” When Minho didn’t respond, Hyunjin’s expression melted into something akin to disbelief. “He’s a _good_ person,” he repeated.

Minho knew. He _knew_. That was the worst part. If only the boy knew how to give up, or at least had some sort of sense of what was good for him, he would’ve stayed far away from Minho.

He’d always wondered how Jisung didn’t know. Minho could feel _his_ power the second he stepped onto the university’s campus. For the first month, it had driven him crazy–the pull to Jisung. It scared him. He could’ve sworn that Jisung knew after he started talking to him, when Minho saw the hope in his eyes every time Jisung would catch up to him after a class. But with time it became increasingly obvious that Jisung had no clue. And it would have to stay that way.  
  
That, however, didn’t stop the insane itch to be around Jisung. There wasn’t much knowledge on the elementals, in fact, there was very little. The most the world knew for sure was that it was passed on after the death of the holder of one of the elementals, through a lightning strike, to someone deemed “worthy”. Minho didn’t know exactly what that meant in this case, but he always wondered how the hell he managed to pass that test.

It was unknown how many elementals there were around the world. Most people guessed around one hundred, but that didn’t include those in hiding, those who chose to do nothing with their powers. It was unheard of to have two of them in the same city, let alone at the same_ university._ Not that anyone knew Seoul’s second elemental–Minho–went to the same university as Jisung. And Minho was determined to keep his identity a secret.

Minho finally pulled his backpack out of his locker, slinging it over his shoulder and slamming the locker shut in one fluid motion. “I need to go,” he said.

“That’s it then? You really don’t care?” Hyunjin demanded, the disappointment evident on his face.

Minho fought not to grit his teeth. If he was anything but the image of perfect indifference, he knew he’d be a dead giveaway to anyone who bothered to pay attention. “I don’t know what you want from me, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin stared at him for a long time, and Minho felt his time ticking by slowly. He was getting impatient. Finally, Hyunjin looked away, face drawn into a sad frown that Minho tried not to let break his heart. “I don’t know anymore, either,” Hyunjin said, walking out of the changing room just as they heard Hoseok call the end of break.

✯✯✯

Despite how much he hated it, Minho only felt like he could breathe freely when he was secure under his mask, and finally allowed to release his elemental.

The shadows took a lot to restrain. It was like a deadly poison, always at his fingertips, wanting desperately to break out. It took years for Minho to learn to control them, and sometimes he doubted if he really did have full control. He despised it, but putting on his suit, unleashing the shadows and letting them breathe was the only sense of relief he got.

_Not the _only_ sense of relief,_ a part of himself seemed to hiss. Minho closed his eyes, feeling the sudden urge to tug his hair out in frustration. He’d been dumb–so dumb–to touch Jisung. But the idiot was about to tumble down the stairs, and Minho didn’t know if he would’ve caught himself.

Even though he hadn’t been sure, Minho had always suspected that touching Han Jisung would feel something like that, like drawing on all of his energy, filling himself. Like ice cold water in a drought, but also like warmth slipping through his veins. Like relief and hope and content, all in one. It felt like golden sunshine–everything did when it came to Jisung.  
  
He promised himself that he’d never touch Han Jisung, but now he wasn’t sure what to do. Minho had seen it in his eyes–the shock, the feeling. He’d watched his pupils blow wide, two black balloons slowly inflating, and felt his heart speed up, but his breathing slow. He’d felt_ everything_. But he had no idea what it was like for_ Jisung_ to touch _him._ He never wanted to find out.

Still, he pulled on his suit, securing the mask over his face. It was a simple black and silver masquerade mask his parents had gifted him when he’d decided he was finally going to do something with his powers. Covering the majority of his face, save for his lips because damn it, Minho wanted to _breathe_, it did its job of concealing his identity. And if anything were to happen to it, well, it was understandably easy for Minho to obscure his face in shadows.

In this city, he was known as Wraith, even though most people tended not to like him, especially when they already had Jisung. In the city he’d grown up, the locals knew him by another name–_Death_. Minho hated that name more than anything, but there wasn’t much he could’ve done to change it. He had a reputation for killing his opponents. It’s not that Minho _wanted_ to, but his shadows were hard to control, especially in the heat of the moment.

He rested on the top of a building, biding his time. He knew that just a mile deeper in the city, Jisung would probably already be in the midst of the fight. He always got there before Minho, mostly because Minho didn’t like to be the first one on the scene. He knew Jisung hated it when he showed up, in his mask and his suit. He always argued that he didn’t need help, and Minho knew he didn’t. That, however, didn’t stop him from showing up anyways, if just to give his conscience some peace.

The elementals were the only true power in the world, a complete enigma to all, even those who have dedicated their lives to studying them. However, that didn’t stop people from trying to copy the power–some had come surprisingly close, but they could never perfectly mimic the elementals. Minho hated that most of all–why would someone _want_ this sort of life? All it had ever given Minho was heartache and trouble.

This particular opponent was a faux fire elemental, and it almost made Minho want to laugh, because that was Jisung’s least favorite. Fire and light were too similar, making Jisung’s power less effective.

At the sound of sirens deeper in the city, Minho sighed, straightening up from his crouch. He glanced around him, searching for the perfect path to take, and was silently happy that he lived in a city. The buildings were all close together, and, even though all elementals were unnaturally fast and strong, he preferred jumps he knew without a doubt he could make.

He took a deep breath, then began running. He easily jumped the buildings, traveling the mile in a couple of minutes. By the time he reached the scene, he was gasping for air. Jisung had always been better at running than him, which was one of the reasons he always beat Minho to the fights.

Reminding himself that he probably shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, Minho shook his head, investigating the scene in front of him.

Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Only a couple of buildings were on fire, and, despite the large number of people panicking, there didn’t seem to be any casualties. He couldn’t pinpoint their opponent, but he made sure to count the number of police officers on the scene, rushing people towards the nearest safe building. He narrowed his eyes, searching for the source of the flame.

Movement flickered in the corner of his eyes and Minho stiffened for a moment, rounding on the figure. He physically relaxed when he realized it was only Jisung, the latter giving him a look of contempt. Minho was used to that, too. No matter how Jisung felt about _Minho_, the younger boy absolutely hated his hero counterpart. Minho preferred it that way, though. He wasn’t sure if he could resist Jisung’s advances on _both_ identities.

Jisung was still wearing the ripped jeans and oversized black hoodie he’d been wearing earlier that day, and Minho ignored the urge to scold him. Jisung _had_ a suit, but he also had a nasty habit of not bothering to change into it.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Jisung said, putting his hands in his pockets, and Minho couldn’t help but snort at how casual it looked. “Running a bit late, don’t you think?”

Minho shrugged. “Thought you hated fighting with me, Han.”

Jisung scowled at the use of his last name, turning his head to the side so Minho couldn’t see his features twist, but he didn’t say anything about it. “Damn fire elementals,” he muttered.

Minho raised an eyebrow, even though it wasn’t visible through the mask. “Yeah, so where is the fucker?”

Jisung winced a little at Minho’s language, crouching down and staring along the streets. Minho was starting to think Jisung had_ lost_ the enemy. “You shouldn’t swear, you know. Children look up to us.”

Minho stooped down next to him, taking extra care to ensure there was a good amount of space between them. “Children look up to _you_,” he clarified. “I’m more like the threat parents use to scare kids into being good. ‘Go to sleep or the Wraith will get you’ or ‘Eat all your peas, or the Wraith will _make_ you eat them.’”

Jisung rolled his eyes, no sign of humor in them. If anything, he looked a little sad. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Minho shrugged, not in the mood for a serious conversation about his role in society. “Whatever,” he said. “We have a criminal to catch. Han Jisung, did you _lose_ the very dangerous faux elemental?”

“No,” Jisung spat back at him defensively. “I just... misplaced him. Momentarily.”

Minho groaned, then stood up. “You make this job impossible sometimes,” he said offhandedly.

“Yeah, like you make my job a fucking bed of roses,” Jisung hissed, crossing his arms.

Minho shook his head at Jisung. “Language, Han. Don’t you know kids look up–”

“Shut the hell up and do your freaky shadow thing,” Jisung demanded through clenched teeth.

Minho shot Jisung a grin. “My pleasure.”

In hindsight, he probably should have done this much earlier, but he pushed away the thought of how easily distracted he was and summoned his shadows instead. He focused on sending out just a couple, down the building and slithering across the streets. He smothered some of the remaining flames, then searched all of the alleyways and side streets for any sign of an abnormal heat source.

“Anything?” Jisung asked after a minute, tone pinched.

Minho tilted his head, eyes closed in concentration. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. After another minute of searching, expanding even farther into the city, he reigned his shadows in. He blinked his eyes open in confusion. “The only heat sources above five hundred degrees are the leftover fires,” he said.

Jisung ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and Minho tried very hard not to track the movement with his eyes. “How far did you look?”

“About two and a half miles,” Minho said. “I came here from about a mile South, and there definitely wasn’t a sign of him there. And nothing for two miles in either direction.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jisung replied through a frown, voicing Minho’s own thoughts. “Faux fire elementals can’t lower their body heat to normal temperatures that fast. He should still be burning at least five fifty.”

“You’re right,” Minho said. “_Faux_ elementals can’t.”

Jisung’s gaze shot to Minho’s. “You can’t be implying that this was a real elemental,” he said incredulously. “That’s insane, we’re the only ones in the city.”

Minho shrugged. “How can we possibly know that?” When Jisung didn’t respond, Minho tried another approach. “What did he want?”

Jisung threw his hands in the air. “What do they ever want, Wraith?” he spat, and Minho forced himself not to flinch at his alias was so carelessly thrown at him. “Destruction, death, devastation, I don’t know!”

Minho peered down at the street once again. The flames were gone now, completely tame, and the people were beginning to venture out of the buildings again. “Doesn’t appear like he wreaked much havoc,” he pointed out.

Jisung followed his gaze, staring at the mostly in-tact street. “Then what do _you_ think he wanted?”

Minho watched as the police officers guided the people to their cars, then moved to patrol the side streets. It seemed a little too convenient that the man had been able to just disappear, invisible even to Minho’s shadows, which made Minho think that he’d achieved what he’d wanted. What _had_ he been successful in doing? “Taunt us, maybe?” Minho suggested slowly. “Draw us out? What happened before I got here?”

Jisung furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “We fought,” he said simply. “But he was a faux fire, you know how it is. Too much heat on both sides. I was waiting for him to wear out or for you to show up, whichever happened first.”

Minho sighed, that was the typical course of action when it came to Jisung’s light against fire. The elementals were similar, their main difference being that Jisung’s light could be used for more. For example, Jisung’s light had healing properties if it was used correctly, though Jisung hadn’t quite mastered them yet. On top of this, fire elementals burned five times hotter than Jisung’s light did, though Minho personally wouldn’t ever want to be caught up in either.

“Was there anything different about him?” Minho pressed. “The way he fought? His power?”

Jisung thought for a moment before answering. “He was stronger than most any faux I’ve fought,” he admitted. “But it’s been–” he hesitated, glancing away in what Minho realized was embarrassment. “It’s kind of been an off day for me.”

Minho’s traitorous mind offered him images of his hand on Jisung’s bare skin, the touch dangerously satiating. He shivered, then glanced at Jisung to see if he’d noticed. Thankfully, the younger seemed to be too lost in his own thoughts to be paying him any attention. Minho cleared his throat, causing Jisung to jump. “I think we have to consider the possibility that this guy isn’t a faux.”

Jisung nodded slowly. “What do we do if he isn’t?”

“We treat him like any other enemy,” Minho replied easily.

Frowning, Jisung shook his head in obvious frustration. “I hate it when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like we’re a team,” Jisung muttered. The words stung, but the look on Jisung’s face told Minho he hadn’t meant for them to hurt as much as they did. He just looked exhausted. “Neither of us has ever fought another elemental before,” Jisung said, leaving the tension of his previous comment behind.

“That’s not true,” Minho pointed out. “We fought each other once.”

“That wasn’t serious,” Jisung protested. “You just really pissed me off. We weren’t actually trying to hurt each other.”

Minho hummed in affirmation, but couldn’t resist adding, “But it was still fun.”

Jisung shot him a glare. “This isn’t the time for that,” he huffed. “We might really be in over our heads this time.”

Minho sighed heavily, and he walked forward until he was at the ledge of the building, then gracefully settled so his feet were dangling. Leaning back on his hands, he tried to calm the anxiety rushing through him. Minho had been able to pull off a lot of things in the past years, but fighting another elemental? He tried not to linger on that thought–they didn’t even know for sure that they were dealing with an elemental, it was possible that it was just a really strong faux. “Maybe we just need a break,” he said. The words weren’t exactly directed at Jisung, more like they were released into the late afternoon air and they happened to drift to the other boy. “Do you ever get tired, Jisung?”

Jisung scoffed from behind him. “I don’t have that luxury, Wraith. In case you haven’t noticed, the whole world knows who_ I_ am. You could disappear and no one would be able to do anything about it, but me?”

Minho laughed bitterly. “Where do you draw the line, Jisung? Between this life and your real one?”

“This_ is_ my real life,” Jisung hissed. “I don’t get to differentiate.”

“So, what?” Minho said, voice challenging. “You spend your entire life being the people’s plaything? The happy little superhero that jumps when they say to?” He glared at Jisung, daring him to disagree.

“The people trust me,” Jisung argued, brow set in a tight, stubborn line.  
  
“No,” Minho snapped back easily, turning away. “The _people_ laugh at you. You’re just a circus show, a party trick. You’re their cute little pet–they want to see you sit and play dead. It’s not always a game, Jisung.”

“At least I’m not a coward,” Jisung spat, and the argument was over.

Minho was silent for a long time, watching the activity along the street. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly Seoul went back to its normal life, like nothing had ever happened. The fire department had finally showed up, but Minho had put the fires out a long time ago. The police were still patrolling the area, but the citizens were going about their day–rattled, but otherwise totally fine.

Minho exhaled slowly, then pushed himself to his feet, preparing himself to turn around. He gasped when his eyes landed on a surge of red along the skyline, surprising him so much that he slid, about to tumble over the side of the building. Jisung was there in a flash, grasping his hand and tugging him forward until he was on solid ground again. A shock went through Minho at the contact, and he tore his hand away before Jisung could notice, glancing up into the other’s face desperately.

Jisung’s hand was still hanging between them, having gone deathly still. A frown tugged on his lips, eyebrows furrowed, and Minho had never seen him look so confused.

Minho’s eyes shifted to the skyline once again, but the flash of red was gone. He glanced between Jisung and the horizon where he’d seen the flash, then back to Jisung. He knew he should tell Jisung, but there was a guarded and wary expression on the boy’s face that he hadn’t seen before. Minho swallowed. “I should go.”

Jisung didn’t so much as blink, and Minho found himself fleeing from the intense gaze, which followed him as his footsteps pounded over the rooftop. He pushed the touch from his mind, focusing only on the gap in the buildings where the flare had been.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” Hyunjin said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder in concern. “If this is about what I said earlier, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to–”
> 
> “I think something is changing with my elemental,” Jisung blurted, effectively cutting Hyunjin off. 
> 
> Hyunjin blinked at him. “What?”

Jisung _was_ exhausted. He hated losing fights more than anything, and though he didn’t technically lose against the faux elemental, he certainly couldn’t count it as a win.

Jisung groaned in frustration, collapsing back in bed as he ran his fingers through his hair. How could he_ lose_ the guy? One second, they were fighting–even though it felt more like the guy was _playing_ with Jisung–and the next he was just gone. A minute later, the Wraith had shown up.

That damn Wraith. He drove Jisung absolutely insane. He was reckless. Every time he had a fight, he left more destruction than the enemy did. He was too careless, and a coward for keeping his identity a secret. It wasn’t just that that sent Jisung on edge around the man, though. It was partially his power. He knew what those shadows could do, had seen the ruin they left behind firsthand, and he despised him for it. Somewhere, deep down, Jisung knew that his elemental was no more his fault than Jisung’s was his, but he couldn’t brush away the uneasy feeling every time he was around the Wraith. Still, Jisung knew that the man had saved his ass plenty of times. Maybe that was just another reason for Jisung to hate him, though.

His mind betrayed him by flashing back to the shadow wielder almost tripping off the building, his pretty lips drawn in surprise. Jisung hadn’t ever seen the Wraith stumble–he was even more graceful than Jisung himself–and it had completely thrown him off guard. He’d reacted without thinking and grabbed him, even though the man probably could’ve righted himself on his own.

His heart stumbled at the thought of the contact when he’d touched him. The spark, followed by a calm that he never has the luxury of feeling, and yet it was the second time that day that he’d felt it. He frowned, wondering if there had been a shift in his power. Was he subconsciously passing on energy when he touched people? He’d never been able to do that before, but his powers were always evolving, and he never entirely understood it.

Jisung sat up in bed, grumbling again. He hated not knowing things almost as much as he hated losing fights. He fumbled for his phone and before he could think it through, he was typing out a text to Hyunjin.

_Hey, come over. I need to touch you._

In hindsight, the text probably sounded more suggestive than he’d meant it to, but it was Hyunjin. He wouldn’t misunderstand.

Half an hour later, Hyunjin was throwing the door to Jisung’s single dorm open like he owned the place, Chinese takeout in one hand, and his phone in the other. He barely glanced at Jisung’s defeated form before he settled down on the couch, already opening one of the containers. “You going to lay there all night, Jisung?” he asked, breaking up some of the pieces of chicken with a chopstick. “And after getting me all excited with the whole touching thing, too.” Hyunjin clicked his tongue, then shook his head sternly.

Jisung forced himself to leave his bed, dragging his feet until he was sitting on the couch beside his best friend. Wordlessly, he opened his mouth and Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but fed him a piece of chicken anyways.

Hyunjin watched him with an unreadable expression as Jisung slowly chewed. “Hey,” Hyunjin said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder in concern. “If this is about what I said earlier, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“I think something is changing with my elemental,” Jisung blurted, effectively cutting Hyunjin off.

Hyunjin blinked at him. “What?”

Jisung ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Just, hear me out, okay? It happened earlier today when Minho grabbed my arm–_don’t_ give me that look, just wait. Something felt–off? I guess? But not in a bad way! It’s like–how do I explain this?”

“Jisung, slow down,” Hyunjin said, looking a little overwhelmed. “What’s different?”

Jisung took a deep breath, trying to slow his thoughts. “Most of the time,” he began, looking for the right words. “It’s like I have this infinite pool of energy, right? It, like, lives in me and I feel it, constantly. It’s–” Jisung fumbled for a way to describe it, “–a lot, sometimes. Like if there was a nonstop buzz in your ear and for years you’ve learned to tune it out, but then it suddenly went quiet.”

Hyunjin furrowed his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

“I felt–relief? I think? Like the world had gone still for the first time in years and I could relax.”

Hyunjin looked at him warily, concern and disbelief coloring his expression. “Jisung...”

“No, I know how this sounds, but just listen. It happened again earlier after I fought with the faux. I grabbed the Wraith before he could slip and I think I felt it. I just–it all happened so fast, I can’t be sure.”

“And you think this is a change in your elemental?” Hyunjin clarified, speaking slowly.

Jisung shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe? Hyunjin, what if there was a way that I could...” Again, Jisung fought to find the right word, “..._imprint_ some of my power on someone? Through touch?”

“So that’s why you wanted to touch me?” Hyunjin asked, a small frown playing on his lips.

Jisung nodded.

Hyunjin sighed. “What about Minho? Did he feel anything?”

Jisung thought back to the look on Minho’s face when they’d touched, but he couldn’t remember much past his own shock. Maybe... Jisung thought harder, and _there._ Minho’s eyes widening for the shortest second, his hand jolting away from Jisung too quick to be casual. Still, he couldn’t be sure. “I don’t know,” Jisung answered finally.

Hyunjin watched him for another long moment, something conflicted in his gaze. Finally, he scooted forward until he was on the edge of the couch, then grabbed Jisung’s hand without any warning.

Jisung stared at their intertwined hands, face contorted in concentration. It didn’t feel any different from the other times he’d held his best friend’s hand. It was comfortable, but energy still sung in his body, restless as ever. Jisung frowned and pulled his hand away, despondent.

Jisung saw a flash of disappointment in Hyunjin’s eyes, but it was gone before he could linger on it too much. “Nothing?” Hyunjin asked, even though Jisung was sure he already knew the answer.

“Nothing,” Jisung affirmed.

“Maybe it was just a fluke,” Hyunjin suggested.

Jisung tried not to feel too let down at the lack of answers, nodding his head with a frown. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  
✯✯✯

  
Finding the source of the flare was harder than Minho expected. He tracked down the heat source about half a mile south from where the fight had been. He stood at the top of a low building, peering down into an alleyway. He was sure this is where the flare had come from, but there was no sight of anything out of the ordinary.

Minho drew his power to him, then leapt from the building, landing gracefully in the alleyway. Thoroughly concealed under his shadows, he kept to the side of the taller building, eyes flickering along the alley. There wasn’t so much as a stray flame still burning, but Minho couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

The alley, though visibly untouched, was _hot_, hotter than any weather Minho had ever experienced, and he was drenched in sweat in seconds. He frowned, his head whipping around for any sign of the heat source. His vision was beginning to blur as waves of heat rose around him, followed by steam.

Minho was about to run out of the alley–as much as he wanted to investigate, he couldn’t remain in that intense heat–but then he involuntarily tensed, sensing movement above him. Instinctively, he dropped, rolling to the side just in time to watch a figure land in the alley where he’d once been standing.

He stared at the figure, his body unconsciously sinking into a fighting stance. The man in front of him was tall and broad, dressed in a suit similar to Minho’s–black and skin tight, allowing flexibility and movement–but of higher quality than his own. Minho guessed it was fireproof, eyes roaming the fabric.

The suit was another indicator that the man was unlikely a faux–most fauxs are dressed in normal clothing, unprepared for the impact of their own powers. This man had obviously had the power for long enough to control it, and there was a certain confidence to the way he held himself that even Minho had yet to achieve.

A simple red mask adorned the bottom half of his face, and his black hair was swept back out of his face. There wasn’t anything memorable or special about his eyes, nothing that would help Minho pick him out of a crowd, and Minho watched them narrow as the man realized Minho was analyzing his face.

With a flick of his hand, flames erupted around Minho, encircling him. He jumped back, trying to escape the heat, but the same temperatures met his back. He hissed, inching forward until he was in the middle of the circle, already feeling the burns through his suit. “What do you want?” Minho shouted over the crackle of the fire.

“I’m looking for someone,” the man answered, approaching the fire.

Minho eyed him warily. “You’re no faux, are you?”

The man scoffed, a cold indifference in his eyes that made Minho shiver. “Do I _look_ like a faux, Wraith?”

“No,” Minho responded, trying to keep his voice steady. The man said nothing more, and Minho understood that that was all the answer he was going to get. His hair was drenched with sweat now, and Minho pushed it away from his forehead. The heat was becoming unbearable, and the longer this conversation was drawn out, the less likely it was that Minho would walk out of this circle. “Who are you looking for?” Minho prompted, stalling.

The fire elemental glanced at him disinterestedly, like Minho was an obstacle in his path. Minho clenched his fists in annoyance–the man had been the one to trap _him_ here, the least he could be was a little less vague.

Minho was having trouble breathing. Every inhale was shallow, and, though there was no smoke from the flame, the air was becoming thinner. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” Minho choked out.

“I don’t want your help,” the man replied simply.

“Then what do you want from me?” Minho asked, his voice hoarse. The edges of his vision were going black, and he forced himself to keep his eyes open. He tried to breathe in, but the air was too thin, and everything was burning. He fell to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“Pathetic,” the man said. He flicked his hand, and the flames were gone.

Minho collapsed, spluttering as he pulled too much burning air into his lungs. He choked on it, trying to breathe, and it turned into a coughing fit, his face pressed into his arm as he tried to push himself up from the ground, arms shaking with the effort.

The man kicked him in the side, grazing over the burns Minho had received when he’d backed into the fire, and Minho cried out in pain as he went sprawling. The man leaned over him, tilting his head. “Is that it?” he muttered, his voice muffled by the mask. “Even the light boy put up more of a fight. Maybe I went too easy on him. I wonder, where is he now, Wraith? Shall I pay him a visit?”

“Fuck you,” Minho spat.

The man clicked his tongue at him. Minho gathered himself, already flinching in pain as he pushed himself to his feet while the fire elemental was somewhat distracted. He knocked the man’s feet out from under him, which gave Minho enough time to put space between them.

The man lifted his hands, but Minho acted faster, sending a couple of shadows to smother his hands, preventing him from setting any more fires. Still, Minho could feel the heat through his shadows, and, even though it was tamer than before, the strain of holding them back was difficult.

The fire elemental grinned at him, his flames burning hotter in his hands. “How long can you keep me contained, little shadow?”

“Long enough to do this,” Minho hissed back, before punching the man in the face with as much force as he could muster.

The man stumbled to the side a little, colliding with the side of the building. Minho reached out again while he was distracted, intending on touching him with his shadows. If he could get his shadows inside the man, he’d win–but he needed to touch his head for longer than a couple seconds, and the fire elemental saw it coming, easily dodging Minho’s hand and throwing his own punch.

Minho clenched his teeth against the pain as it rattled his head, but he remained standing. His focus deterred, the man’s hands were released, and fire once again appeared at Minho’s feet, though with less luster than before. His shadows had managed to drain some of the power from the fire, and Minho had never been more grateful for his elemental.

The man growled, the indifferent look in his eyes replaced by anger, and he charged Minho again. The latter dodged at the last second, rolling to the side. His back ached, but he brushed it off, knowing he needed to stay focused on the fight.

When the man came at him a second time, he ducked to the side, intent on throwing another punch to knock him down. The fire elemental just barely evaded the strike, and Minho’s fingers brushed against his ear instead. As a last second gamble, Minho’s finger hooked around the man’s mask, tugging it away from his face.

Minho stumbled back as the man lashed out in panic. Mask in his clenched fist, Minho stared at the face of the fire elemental. His eyes were wide in surprise, mouth drawn in a grimace, but that’s not what caught Minho’s attention. No, it was the burn scar covering the better part of his right cheek. Minho froze in confusion, unable to look away from the mottled skin.

Without warning, the man turned on his heel and fled, disappearing from the alley in a matter of seconds.

Minho stood still, overcome with shock. The adrenaline of the fight was leaving him, rapidly being replaced by the pain from his wounds and the weariness in his body. But Minho couldn’t shake what he’d just seen.

Could fire elementals burn?

  
☼☼☼

  
Lee Minho had a bruise on his face.

It wasn’t a small thing, either. It looked like he’d decided to go a round with someone twice his size and lost terribly. His left cheek was painted in shades of deep blue and dusts of brown, and his bottom lip was split. Jisung noticed that the older kept licking over the cut, as if subconsciously trying to soothe the wound, and Jisung couldn’t sit still in his seat.

The second their class was over, Jisung jumped out of his chair, smiling sheepishly at the girl who sat next to him when she gave him an alarmed look. He clumsily grabbed his backpack, then tripped over one of the legs of his chairs, and by the time he was out of the lecture room, Minho was gone.

A worried knot formed in his stomach as he turned both ways, searching for the familiar head of black hair, but it was lost in a sea of other students. Defeated, Jisung leaned against the wall, occasionally waving at people as they passed.

Jisung didn’t really know what to do at this point. He knew the older would only ever brush him off, especially if he straight up asked him. Jisung couldn’t see it coming out well, no matter how he said it. “_Hey, who beat the shit out of you? Just curious. You know I’m a superhero, right? Oh, yeah, of course you do...”_, _“So, like, I know this is off topic, but, like, are you aware that there’s a bruise bigger than Hyunjin’s ego on your face? Oh, you are? Okay, have a nice day...”_, and the ever simple, _“Yo, dude, what the fuck happened?”_ Jisung imagined himself saying all of those things, and in each of those scenarios, Minho scoffed at him and walked away.

Resisting the urge to slam his head against the wall repeatedly, he pulled out his phone. His first thought was to text Hyunjin, but he frowned, quickly changing his mind as he recalled their previous Minho-related argument. He held his breath as he called the only other person who might know something.

Changbin picked up on the second ring. “Whatever it is, Jisung, the answer is no.”

Jisung exhaled loudly, and he was sure the breath was loud over the line. He imagined Changbin wincing and glaring. “I was just wondering what you were up to, hyung,” Jisung said nonchalantly, feigning innocence.

“‘Hyung?’ Nice try, Jisung. What do you want?”

Jisung pouted, even though the action wasn’t visible to Changbin, then decided to cut to the chase. “Have you seen his face?” he asked. He didn’t mention Minho’s name, knowing that the older would already know who Jisung was talking about.

Changbin let out a long-suffering sigh. “Jisung...”

“I’m just worried, hyung,” Jisung hurriedly said. “If there’s anything happening to him...”

“He said someone hit him with a door while he was looking at his phone,” Changbin replied. “That’s all, Jisung.”

Jisung bit his lip. “You really believe that, hyung?”

“I have no reason not to,” the older responded easily. Jisung could practically see him shrugging. “If that’s all...”

“Yeah, that was all,” Jisung said. “Unless you want to buy me lun–”

“Goodbye, Jisung.”

With that, Changbin hung up, and for the first time that day, Jisung had the urge to laugh, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Their friendship could only be described as _tentative_. Changbin himself could only be described as _indifferent_, and Jisung thought that was why he and Minho were friends.

He’d resigned himself to the knowledge that he should just go back to his dorm and sleep away the lingering worry, when he caught sight of Minho again, walking out of the bathroom. Jisung frowned as he watched him–had Minho been hiding in there? The concern increased ten-fold, and he shifted hesitantly on his feet for a few seconds before he began walking.

Jisung told himself that following Minho was justified because the bruise on his face was the kind you got from a nasty punch, _not_ an unfortunate run-in with a door. Jisung would know, he’d had both. Multiple times. And if something was going on with Minho that caused bruises like _that_, and if Jisung could help, it was only natural that he tried.

He hadn’t been expecting Minho to walk halfway across the city, however. It was difficult for Jisung to follow at a distance, his confusion growing the farther they got away from campus. He knew Minho also lived in a single dorm at the university, only because Hyunjin had mentioned going there in passing, so it couldn’t be an apartment this far away.

After walking for almost hour, Jisung noticed a familiar building ahead, the sight of it making him nauseous. When Minho stopped in front of the doors, Jisung’s stomach lurched. His chest tightened further as he watched Minho walk in, flowers suddenly in his hand, and Jisung turned on his heel and ran away, wishing that he’d never thought to follow him.

  
✯✯✯

  
As usual, Minho felt his hands grow clammy when he walked inside. He greeted the woman at the desk with a nod, having been here enough times to sign in and walk past the desk without needing to specify his purpose.

Not that signing in really mattered.

“How are you today, Minhyung-ssi?” the lady asked kindly.

Minho smiled at her weakly, used to responding to his fake name. “I’m good, how are you?” he said, returning the question mostly out of obligation.

She waved him off. “As good as you can be, working here,” she said, still smiling, but there was a sad look in her eyes. “Go on back when you’re ready,” she told him, though there wasn’t much need for that, either.

Minho was about to do just that, before he stopped himself, biting his lip. “Has–” he hesitated, wondering if he should ask her. He clenched the flowers in his hand and, gathering his strength, forced himself to continue. “Has anyone else visited him?”

The sadness in her eyes deepened, and Minho felt guilty for asking when he knew the answer. “Not since the last time you came,” she responded softly. “I’m sure his parents are just–”

“–busy,” Minho finished for her, because he couldn’t stand the word. It made him sick to hear, but saying it didn’t make it taste any less bitter. “Right, I’ll go back, then.”

It wasn’t really a hospital, because new cases were rare, and it wasn’t necessarily a nursing home either, because it didn’t cater to the elderly. It was where the city dumped all the hopeless cases. Long-lasting comas, people who were brain dead, and cases that they couldn’t understand. Elemental cases, mostly, though there were few. Still, though it was more cozy than a hospital, it was referred to as such. It had the facade of a home–all carpeted floors and ugly paintings–and it could almost pass for one, if it wasn’t for the abundance of doors and nurses flitting around like little hummingbirds.

Needless to say, the hospital wasn’t Minho’s favorite place in the world. Still, he shouldered open the door he’d seen hundreds of times, taking his shoes off at the entrance to the room.

As usual, his eyes roamed the room first, always so hesitant to look at its occupant. It wasn’t dusty–it was _never_ dusty–and the curtains were pulled back to let the light filter in. He smiled a little, thinking he would’ve liked that.

As usual, he replaced the sunflowers in the vase by the bed, tossing out the ones that had died.

And, as usual, he sat in the chair beside the bed, staring at the boy’s hands first. Some days it was all he could bring himself to look at. The boy’s veins in his right hand were black, spiraling up his arm. Minho felt his chest clench as he stared at them.

The boy had grown since he was seven, but Minho didn’t really know what he’d been expecting. Even though he’d tried to visit every month since he found out where he was staying, he could’ve sworn the boy had grown more. Was that possible? Or was his mind thinking it up because any kind of change felt so hopeful?

It had been near impossible to find the boy. He’d been admitted to the hospital under a fake name for his own protection, and, officially, it was due to a coma. The only people who knew about the shadows in the boy’s veins poisoning him was his family, his nurse, and Minho.

Minho’s breath was shaky when he forced himself to look at the boy’s face. Somehow, it was both soft and sharp, and Minho thought it was the influence of the child he’d been when he’d fallen into the coma, and the man he was becoming–_would’ve_ become, Minho corrected. His eyes were closed, but not a day went by where Minho couldn’t see the way they’d looked at him when the boy was seven. Eyes wide–always so wide–in curiosity, in excitement, in kindness. In fear.

_ Yang Jeongin._

Except, that was the name of the boy. The boy who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The boy who Minho could barely remember, but would never forget. Minho knew it was selfish of him to check up on him when it was his fault he was in this place, but Minho couldn’t help it.

It had taken three months to track down his parents. They’d recognized Minho immediately when they opened the door, even though it had been nine years. They’d tried to shut the door in Minho’s face, but he’d been desperate.

“What the fuck do you want?” Jeongin’s father had hissed.

Minho flinched but didn’t back down. “I just want to see Jeongin. I can’t find records of him anywhere–please.”

Jeongin’s father had pinned him with a glare so full of hatred that Minho almost did turn tail and run. “My son is dead,” the man responded, the words sounding too rehearsed. “You should know that,” he added. “You’re the one who killed him.”

Minho felt sick, choked, and like he might vomit any second, but he forced himself to continue. “He’s _not_,” he insisted, the word cracking. “I know he’s not. I can–I can still feel that he’s alive.”

It was true. Though faint, Minho could sense the boy’s heartbeat, as if the shadows that remained in the boy from the lightning strike were still bound to Minho.

“My son is dead,” the man repeated. “And you need to leave.”

“Daddy?” a small voice had appeared behind him, and, to Minho’s horror, a young girl peered around her father’s legs. “Who is he?”

Minho’s fists clenched in anger, staring up at the man accusingly. “How old is she?” he demanded.

The man’s grip on the door tightened, and Minho knew that he was about to slam it shut. Unconsciously, his shadows slithered away from him, holding the door open so that it was impossible to close. “How old is she?” he repeated, his voice cold.

Fear flickered in the man’s eyes, but he didn’t back down. He tilted his chin up at Minho. “Did you really expect us to never move on? To mourn the death of our son–”

“_How old is she?_”

“Daddy, what’s going on?” the girl asked, her voice tiny, scared. Minho stared at her, anger bubbling in his chest. She had Jeongin’s eyes, and he hated it.

“She’s eight,” the man finally answered, raising his chin as if daring Minho to say anything.

Minho took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down. “Does she know?” he said, his voice scarily calm. Despite the situation, he didn’t want to scare the child.

“No, and she never will,” the father answered. “You need to leave.”

Minho fixed him with a stubborn glare, reflecting the man’s hatred back at him. “I’ll leave when you tell me where I can find Jeongin.”

“Why, so you can finish the job?” the man spat.

Infuriated, Minho hissed, “Would you know the difference? As far as you’re concerned, Yang Jeongin is already dead.”

The man raised his hand as if to strike Minho, but a gasp from below them stopped him. His daughter was clinging to his shirt, eyes wide in fear. Minho’s chest tightened, recognizing that as the same look he’d seen on Jeongin’s face right before the strike had hit.

Minho inhaled slowly, then exhaled. _Breathe_, he reminded himself. “I have no intention of hurting him,” he said. “I want to pay my respects. If you tell me the truth about where he is now, you’ll never hear from me again. You have my word.”

Minho blinked at Jeongin now, the boy all lanky limbs and pale skin. As far as he knew, his parents had hidden his real identity and dumped him here thirteen years ago, and never looked back. Officially, Yang Jeongin really was dead, died of a head injury when the boy was only seven. The records said he’d been cremated, and the world never questioned it.

It was better that the name Yang Jeongin was lost to the world, along with what had really happened to him. If people dug too deep... well, Minho didn’t want to think about what would become of either of them in that case. In a way, by protecting Jeongin’s real identity, his family had also protected Minho’s, and that thought made him sick.

Minho sat in the chair for an hour, in complete silence. Sometimes, he’d bring a book to read the boy. Other times, he sang mindlessly. But today, he was too caught up in his thoughts. Images of red masks and Jeongin’s big, brown eyes and Jisung staring at him in shock after they’d touched filled his head, and they wouldn’t leave.

Sometimes, he told Jeongin everything. He was the only person he’d talk to, the only person who knew about his life as the Wraith, outside of his own parents. But today, the room was silent, and it hung over him like death itself.

When he left the room, whispering an “I’m sorry, Jeongin” over his shoulder, he didn’t feel any lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the time I update next, I'll be in college, so I don't know what the update schedule will look like. Thank you for reading, and please leave comments, I love reading them!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jisung didn’t know what to think.

Jisung didn’t know what to think.

He felt guilty for following Minho, but he’d been genuinely worried, now he was just confused. What reason did Minho have to go into that _place_? He shivered at the intruding thoughts, then forced them away.

He found himself sitting in a café near the hospital as he tried to convince himself that he_ wasn’t_ waiting for Minho.[Rich Text](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530994/chapters/50771698/edit#)

He’d barely been at the café for half an hour when someone slid into the seat across from him. Annoyed, Jisung looked up, prepared to brush off some fan, when his eyes locked with the man’s. There wasn’t anything special about his eyes, but the dark red mask covering half of his face made Jisung’s fists clench with recognition, ready for a fight.

“What do you want?” he hissed at the man, already observing the people in the café, trying to figure out the best way to get everyone out safely.

“No need for that, Han Jisung,” the man replied simply. “I don’t want a fight.”

“Then what _do_ you want?” Jisung spat back at him, shifting in his seat. Despite the man’s assurances, he was still on high alert.

The man leaned back in his chair, and to anyone else, he must’ve looked casual, serene. He sized Jisung up, eyes wandering over him slowly. “A lot of things,” he said vaguely.

“_From me_,” Jisung clarified. “What do you want from me?”

The man folded his hands on top of the table, and Jisung glared at them, noticing a couple burn scars winding up to his wrists. Following Jisung’s gaze, the man pulled his hands away, tugging his sleeves down. Jisung raised an eyebrow at him, curious.

The man coughed to redirect his attention, and his gaze was cold when Jisung met it as calmly as possible. “I’m looking for someone,” the man told him. “Someone I think you might know.”

Jisung blinked at him, remaining silent.

“Are you going to help me or not?” the man demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously, as if to remind Jisung what he was capable of. Jisung thought about the people in the café, clueless and innocent.

“That depends,” Jisung began, picking his words carefully. “Who are you looking for?”

The man sat back again, gaze calculating. “Yang Jeongin. You know that name?”

Jisung blinked, careful to keep his face blank as the shock of hearing the name set in. “Yang Jeongin is dead,” he replied.

The man hummed. “So I’ve heard,” he said, his tone playful like he and Jisung were in on a secret. “But let’s say he isn’t. Where would I find him?”

Jisung’s heart hammered. He hadn’t heard the name in five years, at least. He fought the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes. “It doesn’t matter, he’s dead. I went to his funeral.”

The man studied him for longer. “He’s dead,” he said, echoing Jisung. He thought it was a question, but it held the weight of a statement, like he was weighing the truth of the word. “You really believe that?”

“I don’t need to believe shit, I know it’s true,” Jisung hissed.

“Did you see his body?”

“He was cremated,” Jisung replied without hesitation. He was surprised at his own ferocity as he spat the word _cremated_. Something about the way the man was looking at him, something akin to pity–but taunting–in his cold gaze, made Jisung’s skin crawl, and he needed this man to understand, to leave the subject alone. “I saw his ashes.”

The man leaned across the table, like he could stare into Jisung’s soul for the truth. “Han Jisung,” he said, the name muffled by the red mask. Jisung’s chest flared with hatred. “You’re his cousin, right? Or, excuse me, _were_ his cousin.” He didn’t wait for Jisung’s response, something proud and pretentious in his eyes telling Jisung he already knew the truth and had no intention of letting Jisung confirm it. “Were you close?” he asked, like Jeongin’s death was recent, the facade of pity in his eyes driving Jisung insane.

“Why do you want to know?” Jisung spat back, furious.

The man didn’t respond, only leaning back as a mug of coffee was placed in front of him. The waiter gave them a weird look before walking away, and Jisung wanted to call after him, but he kept quiet. He was tapping his foot impatiently, on edge. “I–”

“Jisung?” a soft voice came from behind him, and Jisung whipped around.

“Minho!” he exclaimed, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be.

Minho was standing there, but he wasn’t look at Jisung. His gaze was focused on the man in the mask, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Minho blinked and it was gone, replaced by his usual nonchalance. He glanced at Jisung. “Is everything okay?” Minho asked, and if Jisung didn’t know any better, he’d say he was worried.

“Yes,” Jisung was quick to answer. “Actually I was just leaving.” He stood, gathering his backpack, eyes locked on the man in the mask. “I can’t help you, I’m sorry,” he hissed, his tone anything but apologetic.

“We’ll speak again, Han Jisung,” was the man’s only answer. His eyes fell behind him, landing on Minho, and Jisung unconsciously shifted in front of the other boy, trying to keep him out of the man’s sight. Jisung was, once again, painfully aware of the dark bruise gracing the side of his face, hoping it didn’t make Minho look weak. Jisung knew he was anything but, but he didn’t want to give the fire elemental reason to remember Minho.

“I hope we don’t,” Jisung replied icily. He looked to Minho, eyes wandering over his face, wishing he could detect something in his gaze. Minho met his eyes cooly, a question in the way he tilted his head, a frown pulling at his lips. “Let’s go,” Jisung said, then followed Minho out of the building, careful to keep himself close to the older boy’s back.

“What did he want?” Minho asked once they were far enough away from the café. His voice was strained, cautious as he took in the irritated set of Jisung’s jaw, the anger lingering in his expression. Jisung wished he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, wished Minho couldn’t read him like an open book while Jisung was so often in the dark when it came to the older.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jisung snapped. He sighed when he realized how harsh it had come off, then turned to face Minho. The older seemed unfazed, but that didn’t stop the guilty tug Jisung felt in his chest. He took a deep breath. “He’s looking for someone,” he told him carefully. “But it doesn’t matter because who he’s looking for... he’s dead.”

Minho opened his mouth, and Jisung assumed it was to ask another question, so he cut him off, not ready to tell the story of his dead cousin. “Look, I haven’t exactly had the best week, so if there’s nothing else–”

Minho shut his mouth, eyes still a little dark with worry. He glanced behind Jisung. “We’re heading the same way, anyway. Let’s just walk back together.”

Jisung blinked at him, caught off guard. “Who are you and what have you done with Lee Minho?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at him. He moved forward, as if to investigate him, and Minho shifted back almost indiscernibly. Jisung sighed in defeat, shoving his hands in his pockets, and offered Minho what he hoped was a genuine smile. “Alright, let’s go.”

  
✯✯✯

  
Minho couldn’t help the glances he threw over their shoulders the entire walk back to their dorms. He was on edge, restless, and it was somewhat of a struggle to keep his shadows contained. He chewed on his lip as a distraction, breaking the scab that he’d received from his fight with the fire elemental.

He shivered at the thought of the man. He’d been on his way home from the hospital when he’d caught sight of the mask in the corner of his eye. He was surprised to see the man in public, sitting in a café, but even more surprised to see him sitting across from _Jisung_ of all people. He hadn’t even thought about it before barging in, knowing firsthand what it was like to fight the elemental.

Jisung glanced at him, a weird expression on his face. It was about the sixth glance in the last five minutes, and Minho was getting tired of it. “What?” he snapped.

Jisung jumped, then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I just–” he paused, eyes darting away from Minho’s glare. He straightened himself, and, apparently having gathered the courage, asked, “What happened to your face?”

Minho blinked, hesitating only a moment before he muttered, “Fell,” but it was long enough of a delay for Jisung’s eyes to narrow in disbelief.

“Really,” he drawled. “I thought you were hit with a door.”

Minho bristled, rounding on him. “If you already knew, then why the hell did you ask?” he hissed.

To his credit, Jisung didn’t so much as flinch at Minho’s icy tone. He stopped, too, as people pushed past them both on the busy street. Jisung fit his hands to his hips, eyebrows furrowed, and lips pursed. “Because you lied to me,” Jisung responded, and Minho heard the frustration and hurt in his voice.

Minho was reminded suddenly of the reason he kept his distance from Jisung, and something about the tension hanging heavily between them felt a lot like he was dancing along a sharp ledge. Minho wasn’t stupid, he knew how Jisung felt about him, but every time they spoke it always ended like this–both of them heated and upset, leaving with more weight on their shoulders. He ached, seeing his own frustration and hurt reflected in Jisung’s eyes, and he wished Jisung would just hate him. The two of them were twin grenades, the aftermath of an explosion between them would be catastrophic, and Jisung had no clue. He thought Minho was Minho, and that made it hurt so much more.

“Leave it, Jisung,” Minho finally breathed out. Jisung flinched and turned away, balling his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. He didn’t have the energy to fight today, and, just like that, the crackling tension between them spiked, and Minho felt strangely empty waiting for Jisung to push back.

“Is it so impossible to believe that someone could truly care for you, Minho?” Jisung asked, voice small. When Minho clenched his jaw and looked away, Jisung’s face crumpled in disappointment, but he nodded. He was silent for a long moment, staring down at the ground, before he mumbled, “Will you at least let me heal it?”

Minho blinked at him in surprise, uncertainty fluttering in his chest. Jisung healing him required Jisung _touching_ him, which caused panic to flare in him. “I–uh–” he spluttered, looking for the words to decline Jisung’s offer without completely giving himself away. Minho stumbled back a step.

Jisung peered up at him through his lashes, cautious at first, then curious as he took in Minho’s expression. Jisung rolled his eyes as he stepped closer, and Minho felt sick when he detected a glimmer in them that was almost _fond_. “Don’t be a baby,” Jisung muttered. “It’s going to help.”

Minho didn’t have time to protest before Jisung’s hand was cradling his cheek, fingers impossibly gentle. Minho choked on the words that had bubbled up in his throat, and, instead of saying them, he let out a soft sound of surprise. It was almost a whimper, and Minho hated that he couldn’t keep his composure. He closed his eyes, unable to look at the expression on Jisung’s face.

It felt _amazing_. Warmth spread over his cheek, healing the dull ache that the bruise brought. Minho’s breath hitched when Jisung’s thumb brushed over his split lip. His skin felt so _alive_, tingling and glowing under Jisung’s touch, and the feeling was beginning to spread through his whole body. Even the burns on his back were beginning to feel soothed, the sting lessening every second. His heart sung, his veins thrummed, and Minho was terrified of how good it felt.

His eyes flew open, and he shoved Jisung away from him with the little strength he had. The shock on Jisung’s face was too much for him, the younger boy’s hand still outstretched and hanging between them like a lifeline. Minho was breathing heavily, tears involuntarily filling his eyes. “You can’t–_don’t touch me_,” Minho breathed, and it came out choked.

Jisung tugged his hand to his chest like he’d been burned, his face pained. Confusion clouded his eyes, but the wounded look dominated them. “Minho–” he said, a tinge of desperation to his voice.

Minho shook his head rapidly, backing further away.

“_Please_, Minho,” Jisung begged. “Why–why does it feel like that?”

Minho wanted to cry, a strangled noise making its way out of his mouth. His eyes traitorously flickered down to Jisung’s arms, a small amount of relief filling him when he realized his skin was still smooth and unblemished. Jisung didn’t seem to be in any physical pain, but he was cradling his hand to his chest carefully, eyes wide. Minho felt sick, mind flashing back to a different set of wide eyes and black veins, and he had to _leave_.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then he was running.

He heard Jisung calling his name behind him, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t see that look in Jisung’s eyes again, so lost and confused and hurt. _Minho_ had caused that. Why was he only capable of causing pain? 

Minho ran all the way back to his dorm, feeling like he was going to explode. The second his door was behind him, he threw his shadows around the room. Textbooks and loose papers that had been lying on the table went flying, lightbulbs shattered, raining glass over his head. He sat back against the door, sliding to the floor as he hid his head between his knees. He hated blowing up, but at least he felt like he could _breathe_ again.

He waited for the tension to leave his body before he allowed himself to raise his head, resting against the door as he took in the chaos that was his dorm room. Glass was strewn across the floor, glittering against pieces of paper in the dying light of the sun, which was all that illuminated the room. He’d managed to knock over his table, and the mattress on his bed was sideways, but other than that, Minho thought it could’ve been worse.

This is why he’d kept his distance from Jisung. He knew what it would do him–_to both of them_–if they ever got to close, and now all of that time he’d spent building a wall between them was pointless. The confused, desperate look on Jisung’s face flashed through his mind, and he knew it would haunt him. He knew Jisung would have questions–questions that Minho wasn’t ready to answer.

What could he tell him, anyways? It’s not like he could barge up to Jisung and tell him he was the shadow elemental, not with how much Jisung hated his alternate identity. Minho didn’t think he could ever bear to see Jisung look at _him_ with the hatred that he looked at the Wraith. But how long until Jisung figured it out on his own? Things were changing, faster than he could keep up with, and he didn’t know why.

Minho sighed heavily, pushing himself to his feet. He didn’t know what to do now, but he didn’t want to think about it, either. He glanced around his room, at the mess his outburst had caused, then grabbed his bag from the floor. He left his dorm once again, slamming the door behind him.

He struggled to recall all the details of his conversation with Jisung, before it had gone so wrong. He’d said that the fire elemental was looking for someone, which was the same thing that the man had shared with Minho before they’d fought. But Jisung had said that the person the man was looking for was _dead_. Frustrated, Minho began to wish that he’d pushed Jisung for the name, but the younger had looked shaken by the conversation with the fire elemental, and it was strange to see Jisung with his confidence so thrown.

It didn’t take long for Minho to decide that he’d have to ask the man himself.

  
☼☼☼

  
Jisung was frozen in shock, watching as Minho ran away from him. He could still feel warmth–_warmth_, not raging energy–in his fingertips from when he’d touched Minho’s face, but the calm sense of relief was gone, replaced by sudden, sharp panic. He’d given up trying to call for Minho, and he knew better than to go running after him, but he wasn’t sure what to do now.

Jisung was _terrified_ of the look on Minho’s face before he’d run away. He wasn’t even sure how to decipher it–a mix of fear, anger, desperation, and regret. His heart ached, and he’d never felt like he’d messed up so bad in his entire life, and he didn’t even know where he’d gone wrong.

_Probably touching him_, Jisung’s mind supplied, and he cursed to himself, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Was it possible that when _whatever the hell happened_ happened, it caused Minho pain? Was he aware of what was happening? Why did he look so scared?

Jisung just wanted to scream. And he kind of wanted to touch Minho again–but not if it elicited that reaction. But most of all, he wanted answers.

He tugged out his phone, first calling Minho, but after getting his answering machine twice, he called Hyunjin.

“Hello?” Hyunjin’s voice came from the other end of the line, already sounding exasperated.

“Hyunjin!” Jisung said hurriedly, his voice coming out a bit breathless. “It happened again.”

There was a heavy sigh, then the sound of sheets rustling. “Jisung, you just woke me up from a very good and much-needed nap. You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that.”

Someone bumped into Jisung’s shoulder, then sent him a dirty look for standing in the middle of the street. “Sorry!” Jisung squeaked after him, bowing, then began walking to avoid any more collisions. Hyunjin made a sound of confusion over the line, and Jisung tucked the phone between his cheek and his shoulder. “No, not you. I–” he sighed. “I’m, like, in the middle of the street. Anyways, _it_ happened again. When I touched Minho. I tried to heal his face–”

“Wait, his face? What happened to his face?” Hyunjin’s voice came across concerned, and Jisung didn’t even try to bite back his smile. As much as Hyunjin pretended to hate Minho, he knew how much he worried about him.

“It’s fine now,” Jisung assured Hyunjin. “He... got hit with a door.” Even though he didn’t believe the lie, Jisung didn’t want to give Hyunjin any more reasons to worry. There was a long, drawn out sigh from Hyunjin before Jisung allowed himself to continue. “When I healed him, I felt that _thing_ again. And then he got this terrified look on his face and ran off.”

Jisung heard more shuffling from over the line, and he wondered if Hyunjin was putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know, Jisung,” he began gently. “Minho’s never really liked... physical interaction. Maybe you just freaked him out.”

Jisung frowned, stopping once again in the middle of the sidewalk. He hadn’t thought of that before. “Do you think I made him uncomfortable?” Jisung asked worriedly, biting his lip. That was the last thing he’d intended to do.

“I don’t know, Jisung,” Hyunjin repeated. He sounded exhausted. “Maybe you should talk to him, instead. You can ask him about the weird touch thing _and_ if you made him uncomfortable.”

“He won’t answer his phone,” Jisung responded bluntly.

“Of course he won’t,” Hyunjin groaned, muttering a curse. “If I tell you what number his dorm is, will you leave me alone?”

Jisung was quick to agree, heart jumping when Hyunjin mumbled something about texting him the address then abruptly hung up. Seconds later, Jisung’s phone pinged with the dorm number, and he didn’t hesitate before following the directions, running towards Minho’s dorm.

It wasn’t long before Jisung was standing in front of the door, looking up at it uncertainly. Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t place it, just that he felt anxious, even more than before. His stomach flipped, feeling heavy and sick, like he’d eaten something that didn’t sit quite right with him.

Not wanting to give himself more time to think over why he felt so wrong, he lifted his hand and knocked. He heard the sound echo through the hallway, dull and loud. He swallowed nervously, waiting. There was no answer for a long time, so he pushed aside the feeling–which was steadily growing more intense–again, and knocked a second time.

Still, no answer.

“Minho?” Jisung called, leaning into the door so he wasn’t shouting down the whole hallway. “Minho, please open up. I just want to talk. I _need_ to talk to you,” he said, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of his voice.

The door remained shut, and Jisung sighed, resting his forehead against it in defeat. At this point, he doubted Minho was in there, though he’d been so sure when he’d run up the stairs. He pulled back, ready to walk away and try again later, but he stopped as that same feeling of wrongness tugged at him once again.

Jisung glanced back at the door, biting his lip, and something in him told him to try the door knob. He hesitated, aware of how much of a privacy violation that was, but his instincts were almost never wrong, and right now, he knew he needed to make sure Minho was alright.

Paranoid, he surveyed his surroundings to check that no one else was in the hallway to witness what he was about to do. To his surprise, the door opened when he twisted the knob, and Jisung held his breath, once again reevaluating the morality of his situation.

If Minho’s door wasn’t locked, that either meant he was home, and had blatantly ignored Jisung, or that Minho had left in a hurry, forgetting to lock it behind him. Or that he never locked it, which Jisung doubted, because this wasn’t exactly the safest part of the neighborhood to be so careless.

Shoving aside his reservations, Jisung pushed the door in, his mouth falling open in shock as he his gaze fell on the chaos that was Minho’s dorm.

It was in shambles. Jisung’s heart dropped as his gaze flashed around the room. The table had been overturned, and papers were strewn across the floor as if the entire thing had been flipped in a frenzy. He whipped is head around manically, searching for Minho in the mess. His heartbeat was going faster than he thought he’d ever felt it before, terror creeping into him rapidly. He scanned the room for any signs of blood, anything that could imply Minho had been hurt. The light in his body was singing, bouncing through his veins like a high, and, when he found nothing, he turned and left the room, only one purpose in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, I'm sorry it's been so long since I've posted, college life has been a bit of a frenzy, but I'm doing okay!!!! I'm not giving up on this story, I'm just trying to secure a writing schedule, I hope you'll bear with me :)
> 
> I debated waiting a bit longer on posting in light of everything that's going on currently, but then I figured some of us might want a bit of a distraction. I just wanted to say that, wherever Woojin is or whatever he's doing, I really hope he's happy!!! Stray kids will always be 9, no matter what <33 Thank you, Woojin. 
> 
> Also, this is just a shout out to monbebes and the fight for Monsta X and Wonho. 7-1=0. Wonho is one of the most genuine and sweetest people ever, and kpop in general wouldn't be the same without him. So thank you to everyone fighting for him. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I really hope to update soon for you guys!!!! Thank you if you're still sticking with me :')


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But who? Minho thought. Still, he said nothing, afraid of making everything worse, and knowing there was nothing he could say, so they sat on opposite sides of the alley, in silence, and Minho wondered how long until everything burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been so long, but a lot happens!!
> 
> jisung swears a lot

Minho barely remembered how he got here, angrily pacing in the alley he first met the fire elemental in. He’d checked the café that they’d just left, but the man was long gone with no way of Minho tracing where he went. Somehow, he’d wound up here, waiting. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he’d sent up a flare of his shadows around five minutes ago, hoping to draw the man in. 

It didn’t seem to be working. 

Minho hated waiting more than anything. Even if he was wandering around the city like a maniac, at least he’d still be _doing something._ He felt like prey, enclosed in the alley walls, knowing the fire elemental could sneak up on him if he wanted. But Minho needed to talk to him, and he needed to talk to him now. 

After another ten minutes, Minho was considering giving up, suspicious of the silence. There was an anxious feeling bubbling up in his stomach, and he suddenly felt like he made a mistake coming here. He tended to jump into action without thinking things through first–it was one of his biggest flaws. 

Just as he was about to tug his hood up and over his head (he didn’t have time to change because he was in such a hurry, and he only had his mask with him), when a familiar red-masked shadow stepped into the alley. His eyes were carefully blank, looking Minho up and down as if he was waiting for a trap. Minho wished he’d thought to lay one.

Minho stepped back leisurely, putting distance between them as subtly as possible. Now that the man was here, he didn’t know what to say–it wasn’t like he could thank him for coming. 

“I don’t like being summoned,” the man said nonchalantly, crossing his arms in a reverent stance. “And don’t think that just because your little trick worked this time, I’ll come running whenever you demand it.”

“Then why did you come?” Minho spat, unable to keep his discontent for the man out of his voice. 

The man’s eyes narrowed in what Minho thought might’ve been a smirk, had it not been hidden behind a mask. “Pure curiosity. Tell me, why did you send up your flare, little Wraith?”

“Pure curiosity,” Minho hissed back, suddenly aware of just how bad of an idea this had been. If he demanded to know what the man wanted from Jisung now, right after the encounter in the café, his identity would be too obvious. There was already an amused glint in the man’s eye–like he knew something Minho didn’t, like he was one step ahead of him–and Minho hated it. 

The man laughed, and Minho’s stomach clenched in anxiety. He realized that the fire elemental was blocking the only real exit of the alley. His eyes flickered behind him, then around the walls of the alley. He could probably scale the wall to his left but–was the man faster than him? 

“Does this curiosity have to do with a certain Han Jisung?” the man asked, in a way that made it sound like it wasn’t a question. 

“No,” Minho answered, too quickly. 

The man tilted his head, his eyes dark in thought. Minho didn’t like that look, and he stumbled to change the subject away from Jisung as rapidly as possible. “Last time we met,” he said, the words coming out rushed and desperate, but he continued anyways, “you said you were looking for someone.”

The man stiffened somewhat, tense. “I did,” he said. 

“Who?”

The man shook his head. “I’ve decided that you’re not the ideal source of information, Wraith.”

Frustration welled up in him. “And why the hell not?” he demanded. 

“Because I’ve found better means by which to obtain that knowledge,” the man said vaguely. 

Minho froze._ Jisung_. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to look in the man’s eyes. “What do you want with him?”

“And why do you care?” the man said tauntingly. “Man of shadows, man of nothing.”

“Why the _fuck_ are you here? In Seoul? What do you want from us?” Minho growled, his anger growing. 

The man seemed pleased that he was getting this reaction from Minho, and he took an intimidating step forward, but Minho refused to back down. “It’s not the time, you’re not useful to me yet.”

Minho stepped forward threateningly, about to call on his shadows as he prepared to fight the man, but the man clicked his tongue at him, and, in seconds, there was a wall of fire between the two of them. “Not today, Lee Minho,” the man said. 

And then he was gone. 

Minho’s legs gave out from under him, and he collapsed to his knees, ignoring the way the cement dug into his hands and his knees, the flames still flickering in front of his face. How did the man know his identity? He’d spent his whole life trying to conceal it, and this–this _faux_ shows up and ruins everything for him. He knew it was only a matter of time. 

And what would happen to him when everyone knew who he was? Would he become a spectacle, like Jisung? Loved? Hated? His hands shook, a little too close to the heat of the flames, and he didn’t even realize as tears began to fall down his face. 

“Oh, shit–what the fuck?” 

The voice drifted to him from over the crackling of the flames, and Minho had the sense to scramble to take off his mask and shove it into the backpack he’d shoved to the side of the alley. He didn’t have time to hide before a very familiar face appeared through the wall of fire. 

“What the fuck happe–Minho? Is that–is that you? Shit!” 

And suddenly there was a very real, very terrified Han Jisung in front of him, and Minho was crying harder, trying to move away from him before he could connect the dots. “Minho?” Jisung’s voice was desperate, and his eyes wide, and everything was happening so fast that Minho didn’t even have time to think before Jisung’s hands were on his face, trying to steady him. 

Minho made a small, futile attempt at pushing Jisung away, hyper aware of every place they were touching. But he couldn’t do it, because the longer Jisung touched him, the calmer he felt, and he just wanted to melt into it and let him hold him forever. 

The pain in his body was subsiding, and Minho wondered if Jisung even knew he was healing him, if Jisung was even aware of the tension that always occurred when they touched, because the panic had yet to leak out of Jisung’s eyes, even as Minho relaxed in his grip. 

Finally, Minho pried Jisung’s hands away from his face, careful to only touch the sleeves of his hoodie. Jisung looked reluctant to let him go, but he pulled away rather quickly, stammering an apology as he did so, worry still swimming across his features. 

“What happened? Are you okay? What the fuck are you _doing here_?” Jisung asked, the words all coming out on top of each other, like too many people shoving through a door. 

“I–” Minho began, but he cut himself off when he realized he didn’t have an explanation, especially if Jisung had seen the signal he’d sent up. Instead, Minho steadied himself, trying regain as much dignity as he could while sitting on the ground with a tear-stained face. “Why are _you_ here? How–how did you find me?”

Jisung looked taken aback by the question, and he leaned back on his heels, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about what to say. There was a hesitant look in his eye, but finally, he sighed and spoke. “I went to your dorm to apologize to you–Hyunjin told me where it was! I promise I’m not a stalker!” he added hurriedly when he realized how that sounded. “But you were gone, and–and your door was open and I saw the state of your room. Minho, I was _terrified_. I thought something happened to you. I’ve been looking for you for the past hour.”

Minho swallowed heavily, unsure of what to say. If Jisung saw his room, it made things a lot harder to explain. He tried to fight down the panic that was beginning to rise again. “How did you find me, Jisung?”

“I–I don’t know,” Jisung said, honest and confused all at the same time. “I followed my instincts, and then I saw the shadows, and the Wraith–”

Jisung looked around like he’d forgotten about that until now and he was suddenly expecting Minho’s alter-ego to appear out of nowhere. Minho swallowed around the dread creeping up his throat, waiting for Jisung to figure it out. 

Jisung fixed him with a serious look, his face still drawn into a terrified frown. “Minho,” he said, his voice patient but grave. “What’s going on? What happened to your dorm, and why are you _here_?”

Minho swallowed, meeting Jisung’s eyes. There was something pleading in them, and Minho wondered when he’d figure it out. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Minho here of all places, left in the ashes of the confrontation after he’d completely lost control in his dorm. But Jisung was still giving him a look full of innocence and a protective glint that was so _Jisung_ that Minho thought he might cry all over again. “I c-can’t tell you,” he choked out.

The look in Jisung’s eyes darkened. “Minho, are you in trouble?” he whispered. 

Minho’s breath caught in his throat, and he wasn’t sure if he could lie to Jisung right now. He tried to find his voice, but it didn’t seem to be working. He kept staring back at Jisung, tears stains on his cheeks, until finally he shifted his gaze away. He ducked his head, unable to look at Jisung any longer, more tears escaping his eyes. 

“Minho...” Jisung’s voice broke, and he reached out for him. Minho flinched away from his touch, then tried to ignore the flash of hurt that shadowed Jisung’s face. “Please tell me what’s going on. I can _help_ you.”

Minho shook his head slowly. There was nothing Jisung could do to help him–not without Minho revealing everything. 

Jisung sighed out from across from him, and Minho wished he couldn’t feel his heart break at the resignation in the sound. “Does this have something to do with that faux fire elemental?” Jisung asked hesitantly. 

Minho’s hands were shaking, and he wrapped them around his knees to hide both his insecurity and the slight tremor. “I don’t–I don’t think he’s a faux, Jisung,” he breathed out finally, staring down at his knees. 

He heard Jisung breathe out heavily, then shift so he was slowly sitting on the ground in front of Minho, mirroring his position. “So it is about him,” he said quietly. There was a long drawn out silence, then–“Fuck, I knew this was going to happen,” Jisung muttered. When Minho looked up at him, he was pressing his palms to his eyes, as if to stave off tears. 

“Wh-what?” Minho said. 

Jisung met his eyes once again, a devastated look on his face. “This is all my fault. He saw you in that café and I–I told him I wouldn’t help him.”

Minho froze, finally realizing what Jisung was going on about. He thought that the elemental was after him because he thought he was important to Jisung. He felt sick, knowing that he had no way of correcting Jisung. He pulled his legs closer to himself and buried his face into his knees. 

“I’m so sorry, Minho,” Jisung whispered. 

_Me too,_ Minho thought, tightening his grip on himself. 

“I’m... I’m going to make this right. I promise. I just–I just have to find someone,” Jisung told him. 

_ But who?_ Minho thought. Still, he said nothing, afraid of making everything worse, and knowing there was nothing he _could_ say, so they sat on opposite sides of the alley, in silence, and Minho wondered how long until everything burned. 

  
☼☼☼

  
Jisung was curled into the corner of the same café, lazily going over an essay he’d written for his literature class last minute the night before. He’d put the essay off for too long, and he was sure it was awful, but Jisung had had too many restless nights recently. All he could think about lately was Minho–what Jisung had gotten him into, whether or not he was safe. If it was up to Jisung, he’d be with the other as often as possible to make sure he was safe, but he knew he was being too paranoid. Minho was ignoring all of his calls, and ducking out of classes early to avoid speaking to him. 

He’d been staring at his laptop screen for so long now that the words were blurring together. Finally, he sighed and leaned forward, deciding to just turn in the essay without editing it. He groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair and reached for his coffee. He frowned when he realized it was already empty, and pushed back from his chair to get a new one, only to freeze when he noticed someone was standing in front of his table. 

“Can I get you a refill?” the fire elemental asked. 

Jisung’s fists clenched, and he had to physically stop himself from lunging at the man that had threatened Minho. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up for a _week_,” Jisung hissed through his teeth. “I needed to talk to you.”

“And I’m here now,” the man responded. “Impatience never got anyone anywhere, Jisungie.”

“Don’t call me that!” Jisung snapped. He settled back into his chair and crossed his arms. He didn’t want to lose his temper and shout at the man, didn’t want to seem petulant. “I assumed–when you told me what you wanted from me–that you were in a hurry.” Jisung could feel his frustration and anger growing as he forced himself to spit the words out. 

The man raised an eyebrow, dark amusement flickering through his eyes. “The other one was much more proficient when it came to seeking me out.”

“What are you talking about?” Jisung demanded impatiently. 

The man leaned back in his seat, watching Jisung intensely. “The little shadow flare–you didn’t think it was a coincidence, did you?”

Jisung’s jaw clenched. “Don’t patronize me, asshole. What did the Wraith want with you?” 

“The same thing you want, I assume. Are you sure you two aren’t a team?”

The man was just trying to get a rise out of Jisung, and he knew it. Still, Jisung balled his fists under the table, trying to keep himself from striking out at the man. Starting a fight in a small café was the last thing he needed to do. “The Wraith and I operate under our own jurisdiction,” Jisung said, forcing his voice to sound calm. “Whatever he’s after, it has nothing to do with me.”

Again, the man raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t it?”

“I’m not here to talk about the Wraith,” Jisung said, his patience finally running out. “I don’t care about his agenda, I’m here to tell you that I’ve thought about your offer.” Jisung winced when he heard the words come from his mouth, knowing he’d regret them. 

“And?”

“I’ll help you find... who you’re looking for,” Jisung said slowly, still unable to say the name. A large part of him still knew that his cousin was dead, had died a long time ago. But he also knew this was the only way to get what he wanted. “Under two conditions.”

“You’re not in any position to be making conditions,” the man pointed out. 

“Neither are you,” Jisung spat back. “Tell me, how desperate are you that you’ll go to the aid of a college superhero?”

For the first time since he’d sat down, the man’s face dropped. Jisung had thrown him off, and he obviously didn’t like it. “Not desperate,” he responded. “Just... using my resources.”

Jisung snorted. “And how am _I_ a resource?” Jisung said. “As far as I know, my cousin has been dead for years.”

“Conditions,” the man said, changing the subject. “What are they?”

“Why are you looking for... for Jeongin?” Jisung asked, the name filling and bursting in his chest. “What do you want him for?”

The man crossed his arms, considering Jisung’s request. “Your cousin was claimed dead thirteen years ago and we–_I_ have reason to believe he’s not truly dead.”

“And what reason is that?” Jisung demanded. 

“I can’t tell you,” the man replied easily. 

“You know, I’m really sick of hearing that,” Jisung muttered back. He was quiet for a long moment, thinking. Finally, he looked back up and made direct eye contact with the man, his face stony. “You have to promise me. _Promise me_ that if I do this, if I find him and if–_if_ he really is alive, no harm will come to him. You’ll let it go, let him live his life.”

“I promise,” the man said with no hesitation, and Jisung could already tell he was lying. He narrowed his eyes at the man, but carried on nevertheless.   
  
“And you leave Lee Minho alone,” Jisung said. He made sure his voice was firm, knew that this wasn’t something he could possibly move on. 

The man raised both eyebrows this time, in something akin to mock surprise, because Jisung knew that the man had been expecting this from the moment he stood in front of him in the café. However, the man remained silent, and Jisung felt himself growing irritated. “I don’t know what happened a week ago, but I know you were a part of it. Fighting isn’t–isn’t going to solve anything, but I think we can come to an agreement. I’ll do what you asked me, but you _never_ touch Lee Minho again. If you so much as _look_ at him again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jisung stretched his fingers and fisted them again, the hatred boiling up in him all over again. He wished he could fight the man now, but he knew he’d lose. But still... something about the image of Minho–broken and hurt and crying in an alley surrounded by flame–made all of his emotions flare up at once. Jisung would do anything to make sure that never happened again. 

It was silent for a long minute, before the man started laughing, and Jisung glared at him. “As... threatening as that is, I agree that we can help each other. As long as you help find Yang Jeongin, _Lee Minho_ will remain... out of this little predicament.”

There was yet another off note to the man’s tone that told Jisung he was lying again, but Jisung figured he’d at least bought himself some time. He’d need to figure out a plan, and soon, but he had to take what he can get. “Then it’s a deal,” Jisung agreed, standing up from his chair. He put his laptop into his backpack and picked up his coffee cup to throw away. Before he left, he turned to the man. “And until I find out anything, you’re going to lay low,” Jisung told him. “I’ll send a flare if I’ve found something.”

“I don’t like be summoned,” the man hissed at Jisung. 

“Yeah, well tough shit, asshole,” Jisung growled back, then walked out of the café.

☼☼☼

The sky gleamed orange, bleeding into the inky black of the night sky. Vaguely, Jisung wished he could see the stars, but he knew that, in the city, that was impossible. Still, this particular sunset was rather impressive, and it made the wait worth it. 

He was sitting on a rather tall building, legs swinging over the ledge and bumping against it with each kick, and leaning back on his hands as he observed the day fading away. From behind him, he heard the sound of another person slipping over the high wall and landing on the roof. Without turning his head, Jisung instantly knew who it was. “You’re late, Wraith,” he said casually, as if he sat on this roof, waiting, every night. 

“Han Jisung,” the other boy said disbelievingly. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Jisung laughed lightly. “Can’t I just be enjoying the sunset?”

“Not on top of this building, no,” the Wraith said, but he warily settled himself down next to Jisung anyways. 

“You can’t monopolize the rooftops,” Jisung said. “I have just as much right to perch here as you.”

“Technically we’re both trespassing,” the Wraith replied easily. “But I didn’t mean you couldn’t be here because this was _my_ rooftop, just that it’s not as simple as watching the sunset. Please don’t play dumb with me, Jisung.”

Jisung sighed. The last of the orange was fading from the sky, and he knew that, if he wanted, he could just make some dumb excuse and leave. The Wraith probably wouldn’t even question it–they weren’t exactly attuned to each other’s thoughts or feelings. But no matter how Jisung thought it over, he knew he couldn’t pull off what he was planning alone, and, although the Wraith was both his last option and someone he hated almost as much as the fire elemental, he was also his best bet. 

He found himself smiling slightly, like he’d just remembered some funny joke someone had told him earlier, and the Wraith turned to him, obviously annoyed. “What’s so funny?”

Jisung shook his head, still looking out at the dying sun. It was pretty dark now, but Jisung thought that might be better. “Nothing,” he said vaguely. “It’s just kind of funny that this is the most civil conversation we’ve probably ever had.”

The Wraith snorted, then leaned back on his hands. “And the longest, too.”

Jisung nodded absentmindedly, and then silence overcame them. Yet, Jisung was surprised to find that it wasn’t uncomfortable, both of them thinking loud enough to stifle any sound. Finally, Jisung knew he had to break it. “Why did you call the fire elemental a week ago?” 

He saw the Wraith stiffen out of the corner of his eye. “How did you know about that?”

“I’m not stupid, Wraith,” Jisung scoffed. “This is my city as well as yours, I like to know what goes on in it.”

The other boy huffed, but it was more of a resigned sound than a frustrated one. He directed his attention upwards, staring up at the darkness of the sky, and, for the first time, Jisung wondered what the other boy’s elemental was like. To have shadows run through your veins. He imagined it wasn’t very pleasant. Still, Jisung was in no mood to be very sympathetic towards the elemental. 

“A little over a week ago,” the Wraith began hesitantly, “right after you got in that first fight with him, I sought him out. We got into a bit of a fight–” here, Jisung could tell the Wraith was purposefully leaving out certain details–“and he let slip that he was looking for someone. I called him a week ago to find out who.”

Jisung tensed. “Did he tell you?”

He felt the weight of the Wraith’s gaze falling on him, then saw him shake his head. “No, he didn’t. He said he had a better way of finding out.”

“That asshole,” Jisung swore. “I’m the better way. He wants to use me.”

The Wraith nodded. “I assumed. Is that... is that why you’re here now? Because if you’re going to tell me not to stop you from helping him, I’m going to have to tell you that helping him is a really fucking bad idea and–”

“He’s going to hurt someone I–I really care about if I _don’t_ help him,” Jisung blurted, then winced at the sudden admission, realizing too late that he didn’t entirely trust the Wraith _either_. 

The Wraith shifted so he was fully turned towards Jisung now, but Jisung continued to stare out at the black horizon. “I think he’s going to hurt a lot more than one person if you _do_ help him, Jisung.”

Jisung clenched his fists, then turned his head toward the Wraith. He could tell his eyes were watering–out of frustration or desperation, he didn’t know. “For once, I don’t give a shit,” he whispered, thinking of how the tears stained Minho’s face, and how he flinched away from him when Jisung tried to wipe them away. Thinking of his cousin, who he went to a funeral for, who he had to forget about, who had died because of the shadows. 

Jisung saw the surprise flicker over the Wraith’s face, even in the dark, even under the mask, and he turned away again to avoid witnessing any other reactions. 

The Wraith huffed a laugh, but it held no humor. “Seoul’s perfect little superhero, thinking about himself for once? The papers would have a field day with that one.”

“Let them,” Jisung hissed. “I’m sick and tired of being this city’s stupid fucking perfect selfless hero.”

“Jisung...”

“No, I’m serious!” Jisung shouted, then took a deep breath to remind himself it was night and they were on a fucking rooftop. To remind himself what he was here for. “I envy you, you know that? I think you’re a fucking coward for hiding your identity, but a smart coward.” The Wraith said nothing, and Jisung took that as cue to continue. “And I hate how careless you are. People get hurt around you, and you just carry on like nothing fucking happened.” Jisung paused, then–“He deserved better, Wraith.”

“Jisung, what are you talking about?” the Wraith’s voice was deathly quiet. 

“Yang Jeongin!” he cried, and he was suddenly aware of a tear rolling down his face. “He’s dead and it’s _your_ fault, and now this fucking _faux_ is threatening more people I care about. I can’t watch someone else die, I fucking _can’t_.”

“That name, how do you know that name?” the Wraith demanded, desperate. He shot to his feet, and, for the first time ever, Jisung thought the other was _afraid_. 

“He was my fucking cousin! My cousin!” Jisung spat, then hid his face in his hands. He hadn’t planned to get so emotional, but he realized this anger had been building up for a long time. 

“It–it was an _accident_,” the Wraith whispered, voice breaking. “Jisung, I never–it was an accident, he was my friend. You have to–you have to believe me.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Jisung responded. “I’m fucking tired. I’m so fucking _tired_. He’s dead and everyone thought it was a head injury but I knew–I _knew_. I saw–shadows in his veins, poisoning him, murdering him–who else could it be?”

“_Please_ Jisung, it’s not–I loved him like a brother,” the other boy said, his voice breathless and cracking. 

“And look where that got him,” Jisung whispered. “He’s dead. He’s _fucking dead_.”

“He’s–he’s not!” the Wraith choked out, and Jisung’s head whipped towards him. “I didn’t–he’s _alive._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,,, yeah
> 
> merry late christmas and happy holidays everyone!!!! 
> 
> Sorry for all of the angst in this chapter (lol am I though???) but it's all really important. anyways, this chapter 100% wrote itself, I had other plans and this happened, so if anything, blame the story not me. but! what do you think is going to happen???? and did you like it?????? tell me what you think, and, as always, i love you guys!!! <3
> 
> (also if it feels rushed, i'm really sorry!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys, remember me? i really wanted to post this in time for jisung's bday!!! (it's just about his bday in my time zone, so i'm going to count it) 
> 
> happy birthday to our jisung <33
> 
> TW// panic attacks 
> 
> if you want to skip, don't read from "it was a short walk to hyunjin's dorm" to " 'never apologize for something like that' "

✯✯✯

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could think to stop them, and once they were in the air, they hung between him and Jisung for a long, long moment. The horrified, desperate look had dropped from his face, replaced by pure shock. Minho wished he could take the words back, but it was too late. 

Jisung shouldn’t know–especially if, for some reason, the person the fire elemental was looking for was Yang Jeongin. What could he possibly want with him, and how did he know he was still alive? As far as Minho was aware, the only people who knew that he was still alive were his parents and himself. 

He glanced back at Jisung, watching the boy try to catch his breath. He wasn’t looking at Minho, but he knew there was a dark look in the other’s eyes, staring at the wall in disbelief as he, Minho assumed, tried to piece everything together. Minho took a breath, though there was no way to prepare himself for the conversation that he knew was going to happen. “Jisung, I–”

“_Don’t_,” Jisung hissed, flinching. He buried his face between his hands, trembling slightly, and Minho had never felt so terrible, so helpless. 

Minho knew he should just leave it, should probably get as far away from Jisung as possible right now, but something was tugging at him, making him stay. Maybe it was just the effect the other boy had on him–the constant tug making it so, so painful to leave him. “I–how did you know?”

Jisung laughed bitterly at that, a dark, crazed sound. “The fucking elemental told me he was alive, how the fuck do you think?” he spat. “I still–I still thought he was dead, though.”

Minho shook his head. “No, about the shadows. How did you know what–” he had to pause, take a deep breath, “–what really happened to him.”

Minho thought the question would make Jisung’s rage spike all over again, but, instead, there was a heavy set to the younger boy’s shoulders, something almost akin to defeat, and Minho wished he would just be angry, wished he would yell at him. Jisung’s eyes were emotionless when they finally met Minho’s. “I saw his body. Before they came up with the story that he hit his head. The day it happened, I was there, at my aunt and uncle’s house, with my family.” He blinked into the distance, like he was trying to remember. “Jeongin left and when he came back...”

Minho let out a deep breath, and he knew that Jisung didn’t have to finish that sentence. 

“I don’t remember much else. I was dragged away before I could even understand what I was seeing, and the next thing I knew–I was going to his funeral,” Jisung said, his voice far off, like he’d forgotten that Minho was there. He was quiet for a long time, before he fixed his dull gaze on Minho. “If he’s not–if he’s not _dead_, where is he?” 

Minho swallowed painfully, taking in Jisung’s demanding tone and the dangerous lilt to his voice. “I can’t tell you,” he said carefully. 

Jisung was on his feet in an instant, walking forward until he was directly in Minho’s space, the latter stepping back instinctively. “And why the fuck not?”

A flash of panic lit up Minho’s chest, but he forced himself not to flinch away. “Does this have something to do with the fire elemental?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. 

Jisung laughed, bitter and disbelieving, before his face settled into a dark glare. “I have to hear that my cousin–who I thought died _years ago_–is still alive from some bastard in a red mask and you have the–the _audacity_ to ask–” Jisung huffed in frustration, tears filling his eyes all over again. 

“Jisung, listen to me–”

“No, _you_ listen to _me_,” Jisung spat, getting right up in Minho’s face. “The fire elemental is looking for my cousin, and I have no idea why. If you think for a _second_ that I would risk his life after I just–after I just got him back–” his words stuttered into nothing, his voice growing strained with what Minho assumed was the effort of keeping back his tears. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Minho muttered, just loud enough for the other boy to hear. “Please, you have to understand–I care about him, too. I would never–” he took a deep breath, trying to will himself to keep talking, _make_ him understand, “_never_ hurt him. Or put him in danger.”

Jisung scoffed, a cold hatred in his eyes. “You already did.”

“_Please_, hear me out. I can–I can tell you everything that happened. And when–” Minho faltered, hesitant for only a second before he spoke again, softly “–when we have a plan, I can take you to him.”

Disbelief flashed in front of Jisung’s eyes, something wary and desperate at the same time. “You’ve seen him recently?”

Nervously, Minho nodded. 

A long breath left Jisung, pained. “How–how is he? What’s he like?” 

Minho’s heart stuttered, guilt seering through him. The hope on Jisung’s face, outweighing the hatred and distrust, was too much for him to handle. He didn’t want to ruin that, didn’t want to take it away. He never wanted to hurt Jisung, he was just too bright, too beautiful. But here he was, hurting him again and again. He looked away as he spoke, unable to look into his eyes. “He’s–he’s really handsome,” he said. “Taller now, with longer hair. I think–I think he’d still have a great smile.” The last words came out hushed, like a short breeze. 

“Y-you think?” came Jisung’s voice, small and scared. 

Minho shut his eyes tight and took a deep breath. “He’s still in a coma, has been ever since that day.”

A long silence settled between them as Jisung processed this. “So,” he began, slowly as if to keep himself grounded, “your shadows didn’t kill him? Just put him in a coma?” 

Minho dared to glance at Jisung, taking in his deep frown, the way he was staring at the ground, deep in thought. “It wasn’t me,” he said. “Well, it was me, but it was–” Minho huffed in frustration. “I would _never_ hurt him.”

Jisung hesitantly met his gaze, searching for something in his eyes. “I want to believe you,” he said, slowly. “Your eyes, they–” he cut himself off, shaking his head. 

Minho’s heart quickened, wondering what Jisung saw in him that made him look at him like that. He wished he could just know what the younger was thinking. He wished for a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he’d ever get them. “My eyes?”

Again, Jisung shook his head. “It’s nothing.” 

Jisung walked to the edge of the building, settling down and looking out at the sky. There was only one strip of light left on the horizon, the rest of the sky bleeding into a murky black. He sighed. “Tell me, Wraith.”

Minho froze. “What?”

Jisung looked over his shoulder at him, and Minho’s breath caught in his throat as the dying light barely illuminated his face, making him look so, so beautiful. So impossible, so out of reach. Minho swallowed heavily, wishing the ache in his chest away. 

“Tell me what happened, and I’ll decide if I believe you or not.”

☼☼☼

Jisung watched the Wraith’s eyes carefully. Since it was the only part of the latter’s face that he could see, it was all he could judge his reactions with. He thought he saw a glimmer of hope at his statement, before the Wraith was looking away, breaking eye contact. A pang of frustration welled up in him, but he forced it away. Why should he care whether he saw the Wraith’s eyes or not?

Slowly, the Wraith nodded. “I’ll tell you everything, and then we can come up with a plan,” he said. 

“_If_ I decide to believe you,” Jisung emphasized. 

Once again, the Wraith met his eyes, nodding seriously. There was a glimmer in the other boy’s eyes, one that Jisung could’ve sworn he knew. This was the longest he’d ever been around the Wraith–the closest they’ve ever been. He’d never taken the time to commit the other boy’s features to memory. However, now was not the time to focus on that. 

The Wraith sat down behind him, and Jisung had to turn to watch his expression as he told his story. They both pulled their knees up to their chests, mirroring each other. 

“Jeonginnie was like a little brother to me,” the Wraith began wistfully, and Jisung could already feel the anger threatening to burst out of him, but he grit his teeth, forced himself to be patient. “I never had siblings, but Jeongin would come visit me almost every day. He had a great imagination, and we always had the best time together. And he had the best smile, you know? Like when he smiled at you, you knew everything was going to be okay.”

Jealousy coursed through Jisung. As a kid, he hadn’t been terribly close to his cousin, as his parents didn’t get along with Jeongin’s parents. He rarely saw his cousin, but he, too, remembered the rare occasions when he would play with his cousin and laugh with him. He also remembered his smile, remembered thinking that he must have been one of the purest things on this earth. But he never got to know him like the Wraith did. He hated that, hated that the other got to be close to him, but _he_ ended up ruining his life. 

“It happened when we were playing in my yard one day,” the Wraith continued, swallowing heavily. “I don’t remember it very clearly, but it was the day I got–I got _this_,” he gestured to himself, indicating his shadows with disgust. “He’d grabbed my hand. I think it was because he was scared. The sky had been getting dark and it looked like it was about to storm. But after he grabbed my hand,” he paused for a long time, staring at his hands. When he finally took a breath to continue, Jisung noticed a glint in his eyes, like tears. “That’s when the lightning bolt struck.”

Realization settled heavily on Jisung’s shoulders. He remembered the lightning bolt like it was yesterday, the shock of energy, the pain tearing through him until it left him buzzing with light, completely lost and scared. “Oh,” he breathed out. So many thoughts were running through his head, but he couldn’t seem to verbalize them. When he looked up, he saw his pain reflected in the Wraith’s eyes.   
E  
“After I came to, everything was a blur around me. I didn’t–I didn’t know what was going on and I felt so sick. The power–it’s _poison_, Jisung. It took me years to tame it enough to not feel like something was crawling in my skin, making me heavy, making me sick. I was so disoriented, I didn’t know what was going on, but my first thought was Jeongin. I had to check on him. But when I got to him–”

“He was already in a coma,” Jisung finished for him. 

The Wraith ran a hand through his hair, then pressed his hands to his eyes roughly. “Yeah. He was touching me when the bolt hit, and I think–I think some of it went into him. But he wasn’t the next person to carry the shadows, he was never meant to have it in him, his body couldn’t possibly have handled it.” 

The new information was a lot to take in, and he couldn’t stand how fast his mind seemed to be moving. Just knowing that one of the strikes could affect someone else touching the person was hard for him to understand. But if the Wraith didn’t purposefully do it–if he didn’t force the shadows into him– “Don’t you control the shadows?” he blurted out. 

The Wraith tilted his head, confused. 

“Don’t you control them? Couldn’t you just draw them out?” Jisung demanded, leaning forward, body buzzing as he got excited. 

The Wraith’s eyes turned sad, and Jisung instantly sat back, despaired. “I tried. I sought him out a couple of years ago. His parents–they basically disowned him, had another kid and forgot all about him. But I managed to get his location and when I found him, I _tried_. But the second I started to draw them out, his–his heart stopped.”

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat. “So your shadows–?” he began, but he didn’t know how to end the question, simply staring at the older boy. 

The Wraith ducked his head, something like guilt and shame flashing through his eyes. “I think–I think my shadows are the only thing keeping him alive.”

☼☼☼

Jisung walked home in the dark, trying to set his mind straight. All of this new information–it was all a blur, his head swimming. He’d left the Wraith with the promise that they’d speak again, try to figure out some plan of action, and then he’d hurried away before the other could respond. He didn’t want to be around him right now. He didn’t want to be around _anyone_, except maybe– 

He shook his head. Minho would want nothing to do with him, especially after everything that had happened the other day. Besides, Minho was hardly the one to offer a shoulder for Jisung to cry on. Jisung was also painfully aware of the older’s drastic efforts to avoid all attempts of contact, not that Jisung blamed. Minho had almost been _hurt_ because of him, Jisung couldn’t forgive himself, let alone ask the other to do the same. 

Jisung’s hands were shaking, and as much as he told himself he didn’t want to talk–that he wanted to be alone–he found himself pulling out his phone before he could second guess it. 

He cursed when the phone went to voicemail, immediately dialing again. On his third try, he finally got an answer in the form of Hyunjin’s sleep-groggy voice, “Sungie?” 

Through a sigh of relief, Jisung breathed, “Hyunjin,” his voice shaking. 

There was a crinkle from the other side of the line, and Jisung assumed that Hyunjin had sat up, wincing in guilt when he realized he’d probably woken his friend up from a well-needed sleep. 

“Jisung–” Hyunjin’s voice was panicked, still slurring a little with the effort to wake up. “Is everything okay?”

Jisung’s breath was coming quick, heavy, like the weight of the past couple of hours was finally settling on his shoulders and he was suffocating under it. “Can I–can I come over?” he asked hurriedly. 

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Hyunjin responded, his voice soft and assuring. “I’ll leave it unlocked, okay?”

“Thank you, I’ll be over soon,” Jisung said. 

“Okay.”

Jisung knew the other was about to hang up, but right before he heard the phone click, he breathed out, “Hyunjin?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

The other boy was silent for a long minute, before he muttered, “Yeah, you too,” and hung up.   
  
It was a short walk to Hyunjin’s dorm, and he didn’t waste any time to get there. The door was unlocked, as Hyunjin had promised, and Jisung stumbled in rather quickly, his heart like hummingbird wings in his chest. He collapsed on Hyunjin’s couch with no other warning. His hands were shaking and he couldn’t stop _thinking_. He was terrified for his cousin–what the hell could the strange elemental want with a boy who’d been comatose for so long? His mind was a conglomerate of anger and desperation and fear and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

“Jisungie, hey, hey, talk to me, what’s wrong?” Hyunjin’s voice was suddenly near his ear, and vaguely he heard his friend set something down on the small table in front of him, but his mind didn’t seem to process it. 

“I–can’t–breathe–” he stuttered out. Arms tense, he folded in on himself, tucking his head into his knees as he tried to steady his chest. He felt like he might burst at the seams, the effort of holding everything back too much. 

“Jisung, please, you need to calm down!” Hyunjin pleaded, fear creeping into his voice. “Your light...”

Looking up, Jisung saw that his hands were glowing, and, peering down, he realized the same light was emanating off every part of his body, casting even the furthest shadows in the room into a bright, white light. Hyunjin was squinting against it, trying to make out Jisung’s face, but Jisung saw the panic on it. 

“I can’t stop it!” Jisung cried. He grew even more scared, this time of himself, and the light got even brighter. 

Hyunjin finally caught his eyes, still wincing against the light, holding a hand to cover most of his eyes. “Jisung, please. I’m–I’m scared,” Hyunjin whispered. 

Jisung blinked, the sudden thought that he was endangering his best friend shutting out everything else and the light ebbed–slowly, then all at once until there was just a dim glow from the lamp Hyunjin had left on. Hands still shaky, he reached out and pulled Hyunjin in for a hug, swallowing down a mixture of guilt and disgust at his own lack of control. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Hyunjin hugged him back tightly. “Scared_ for_ you,” Hyunjin muttered, pulling away to trail his eyes over Jisung’s face. “Not _of_ you,” he clarified. “Never of you.”

Jisung exhaled shakily, still feeling sick and terrified, but he tried to force himself to calm down, using Hyunjin’s breathing as a guide and his best friend’s hands as a way to ground himself. After a few minutes, he felt more present, at ease in his body once again. “I’m sorry,” Jisung muttered, turning his face away. 

“Never apologize for something like that Han Jisung,” Hyunjin said sternly. He watched as Jisung mutely nodded, and he sighed, eyes softening. “Do you want some tea?”

Again, Jisung nodded, and Hyunjin slid the steaming mug off the table and pressed it into Jisung’s hands. Jisung hummed at the warmth it radiated, just holding it there as he stared at it. The mug was a gift, from Jisung himself actually. It was a badly edited picture of him in a gaudy superhero outfit with the words _Have a super day!_ scrawled across the top in comic sans. 

Hyunjin followed his line of sight to the mug, then laughed. “I didn’t even see which mug I pulled out,” he explained. “I’ve had that ugly thing in the back of the cabinet for a year.”

“Hey!” Jisung said, offended. “I _like_ this mug.”

Hyunjin snorted. “You also liked khaki shorts and socks with sandals. God, what would you do without me?”

Jisung rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his tea. The warm liquid brought a whole new sense of comfort to him, fending off some of the remaining tendrils of fear. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said, resolutely redirecting his gaze back to the coffee mug. “When I called I just didn’t want to be alone.” 

“You never have to be, you know that,” Hyunjin replied easily. “But I do have an eight am class tomorrow, so also fuck you a little,” he added with a short laugh, nudging Jisung as he cracked a smile. 

“Skip it,” Jisung told him, setting the tea out and stretching out on Hyunjin’s couch easily. “Tell the teacher you were helping me, that always works.”

“You’re such a kiss ass.”

“You love it,” Jisung shot him a wide smile. 

Hyunjin grinned back, but, as he took in the dark circles under Jisung’s eyes, and the weariness that caused him to lean his head back and close his eyes, his smile died. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jisung sighed. “Do I ever?”

Hyunjin fixed him with a serious look, and Jisung sighed again, twice as loudly this time, staring up at the ceiling. “Did I ever tell you about my cousin?”

Confused, Hyunjin pondered his question for a moment, seemingly trying to think back. “The one who puked on your homework and refused to tell the professor so you got a bad grade?”

Jisung laughed, but shook his head, a sad look in his eye. “No, Jeongin. The cousin who–”

“–died when you were young,” Hyunjin finished. “I remember now. Why bring that up now, though?”

“I told you he died of head trauma, well that wasn’t really true,” Jisung said slowly. “I don’t want to get into the details of it now, but it turns out he’s not really dead. And for some reason that evil elemental asshole wants him.”

Hyunjn blinked at him, silent for a long minute. “I’m sorry, but what?”

Jisung chuckled humorlessly, dragging a hand down his face. “My thoughts exactly. Oh, and on top of that, the Wraith knew the whole time.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah.”

They sat quietly after that, Hyunjin trying to take in the information and Jisung fighting sleep. Jisung’s eyes were finally falling closed when Hyunjin murmured, “So, what are you going to do?”

Jisung laughed dryly. “I have no fucking clue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone :)
> 
> i really do want to continue this story, so if you're still with me here, thank you so much for being so patient!!! i hope everyone is doing okay, i love you all 
> 
> i'm sorry it's not very long, but please tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and always, comments are greatly appreciated!!!!
> 
> Add me on Twitter: @simbawritesv


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